


The Trunk

by renegadebubble



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, Buckle up Malcolm it's only gonna get worse, Episode: s01e11 Alone Time, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, Hurt, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sorry Not Sorry, just lots of hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadebubble/pseuds/renegadebubble
Summary: AU of the end of "Alone Time" where Malcolm only thinks he trapped Watkins in the steamer trunk.
Comments: 85
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this take on Alone Time has been written yet, so forgive me if it has!
> 
> Also, this is my first published fic so be kind lol

“Watkins! I know you’re here! This is  _ my _ house!” Malcolm trudged up the stairs from the basement, crowbar held firmly in his right hand, the other rendered useless and laying down at his side.

From above, he can hear his mother call out his name. His adrenaline is pumping. The pain in his side is but a dull ache. He has to act now. And fast. How is he going to trap the man who is so much bigger than him? And who isn’t slowly bleeding out with each step?

The trunk. That’s how he’ll do it. 

He doesn’t know how or why the thought came to his mind, but it’s there and quickly taking over any other thoughts on how to stop Watkins. 

Trap him in the trunk like he was trapped in his grandparent’s closet. That’ll work. That  _ will _ work. Catch him off guard and... _ yes. It will work! _

Malcolm’s eyes move around the parlor room and...oh...it’s like it was there  _ waiting _ for him. The old steamer trunk that used to belong to his great-grandfather is already here in the parlor, off to one side of the room. Why it’s up here and not in the basement where it normally is he doesn’t know. He doesn’t question it. It’s here and for once the sight of it doesn’t fill him with terror. 

No, this time he will use the trunk for  _ good  _ by saving his family and locking that monster away. 

Malcolm drags the trunk to the middle of the room with one hand and throws it open. John...he’ll fit in here perfectly before the police, before  _ Gil  _ can take him away. He should call Gil. He should tell him to get here quick and-

He hears his mother screaming from upstairs, and what sounds like the ax John took with him cutting it’s way through the door. 

No. There’s no time.

Malcolm heads to the stairs. “Watkiiiiins!” he yells to the upper floor, trying to bait the man to come back down to him. He has to be ready. He has to hide and get John to come to  _ him.  _ He’ll never be able to fight John off one-on-one. A strong breeze could probably take Malcolm out now-

_ No! Your family is at stake. The people you love. You won’t let him take them away from you. You have to be strong right now. _

“I’m going to find you...and lock you in the dark…” he adds in an almost sing-song voice, taunting the man to come down. He just has to get him away from Ainsley and his mother…

He can hear John finally make his way down the stairs, and what should have been relief now brings Malcolm to a new depth of fear. He practices the deep breathing techniques Gabrielle taught him, but every breath causes the pain in his side to grow. He just has to be quick, to surprise Watkins, and this will be over soon.  _ Focus. _

From his position on the opposite side of the room, hidden behind the other side of a doorway, Malcolm is able to hear John’s heavy boots approaching the parlor. 

_ Yes. Go to it. Go to the trunk!  _ Malcolm can’t help but cheer from inside his mind, watching as the man finally makes it into the room with his trap. John quiets his footsteps now, listening for Malcolm, but also seemingly distracted-

Malcolm makes his way from his hiding spot and ambushes John, hitting him over the head with the crowbar as hard as he can. John immediately drops to the floor, as does the crowbar, and Malcolm can’t help but smile. “This is  _ my _ house,” he whispers to the man as he pushes him into the trunk, securing the latch with the crowbar. He won’t be getting out now. He’s stuck. He’s stuck in there and his mother and sister are  _ safe  _ now. 

Reunited with his family, the two women help Malcolm down into a dining room chair as they wait for Gil and the rest of the cavalry to arrive. Ainsley takes a seat beside him, holding her brother’s good hand while her other keeps another towel to her head. It doesn’t take long for red and blue lights to appear in the windows at the front of the house, and Malcolm can’t help but smile and relax. He did it. They’re safe. 

“Hey, kid!” 

He hadn’t realized he closed his eyes because he’s suddenly opening them to see Gil crouched in front of him, a hand gently resting on his knee. Officers are flooding the home, guns drawn as they search the house room by room for Watkins. 

“Hey, Gil,” he answers him back in a soft, exhausted voice, which immediately draws a concerned look to Gil’s face. Malcolm has always been a ball of energy fueled on sugar, coffee, and sugary coffee, and to hear him like this?

“How are you, kid?” he has to ask, squinting in the dark as he tries to look him over. “And will someone-” he says, turning away from Malcolm and yelling now “-turn on some GODDAMN LIGHTS so we can see in here?!”

“I’m fine,” Malcolm immediately tells him, waving him off with his good hand. His other is still clutched to his side, and afraid to move it, and Jessica is holding a hand towel to his side. 

“You are  _ not  _ fine, baby,” she tells Malcolm before turning to Gil. “That monster  _ stabbed  _ him and broke his hand!”

“No...no I did that part. The hand part,” Malcolm corrects her while waving the fingers of his good hand. “Dad helped,” he adds with a soft laugh, his eyes fighting to stay open.    
“Dad…?” Gil ignores that for now. He can see the dried blood on Malcolm’s head. Kid must have a concussion as well.  _ Just what he needed _ , he thinks sarcastically. “Where is he, Bright? Where’s Watkins?” he asks now, one of the more pressing issues at hand. They have to clear the house before the paramedics will be brought in. 

“I...I locked him in the trunk. In the parlor. He’s in there,” Malcolm tells him, his eyes slipping shut and opening again, but he’s able to point a finger to a room. He’s dangerously close to teetering over.

“You heard him!” Gil barks at one of the nearby officers. “Parlor! Trunk! Get that maniac out of here!” The officer heads off, calling out for others to join her. 

Malcolm smiles to himself before turning to face his mother. “I told you he’ll never hurt us again,” he tells her, and his mother smiles back at him.

“You did such a good job, baby. I’m so proud of you,” she tells him, kissing him on the top of his head. The four of them turn to the hallway now, waiting for Watkins to be brought out of their home,  _ Malcolm’s _ home, in handcuffs. 

And they wait. 

Malcolm’s eyes slip shut again. 

And they wait.

“There’s no trunk, Lieutenant!” they hear called out. 

Malcolm’s eyes shoot open. 

“What? Are they even in the right room?” Jessica asks in an agitated tone. “Don’t they know what a  _ parlor _ looks like-”

Malcolm is on his feet suddenly, his head spinning and his side aching. But he has to see. He has to tell them where John is. They have to get him out of his house. He’ll lead them to it.

“Malcolm!” Ainsley exclaims, knowing her brother is in no condition to be on his feet again.

“I’m fine,” he says for the second time in five minutes, pushing his mother’s hand away as she tries to get him to sit down again.    
“I’ve got him,” Gil assures them, holding Malcolm up and guiding him where Malcolm tells him to go. The officers just didn’t go to the right room, that’s all. There’s so many rooms in this house. That’s the problem. They’re just in the wrong  _ room _ . 

“He’s in here,” Malcolm tells Gil, pointing to a room off on the right. When they round the corner, Malcolm’s stomach drops. The lights are on, and the room has four officers in it. Why haven’t they…?

Malcolm looks for the trunk, but it isn’t there. The crowbar is on the floor, and some blood on the rug, but-

“Where is it? Where did you go with the trunk?” he asks in a soft voice, his eyes wide and staring at the space it was at. It has to be here. “Where...where did he go?”

None of the officers have an answer for him. 

“WHERE DID HE GO?!” he yells, the room beginning to spin as his breathing picks up. 

Jessica suddenly appears behind him, laying a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. He flinches, pushing away from her and Gil. 

“Baby, what-”   
“He was  _ here.  _ I put him in the trunk right  _ there. _ ” Malcolm points to the empty spot in the room where it was, where he’s  _ sure _ it was. 

“Baby...what trunk?” Jessica asks him in a gentle tone, reaching out for her son. He turns away, walking over to the spot instead. “We put all of them away in the basement after you wouldn’t drop it about The Girl in the Box…”

“It was Pop Pop’s trunk and it was right  _ there _ and  _ waiting _ for me! Waiting for me to put Watkins in it!” Malcolm exclaims, his hand tremor rearing its ugly head again as it begins to shake, as  _ he _ begins to shake. Gil approaches him, hands up in a slightly defensive position, to show he isn’t a threat to Malcolm. Not that he would ever think Malcolm would in his right mind, but he can see that Malcolm’s right mind is slipping away from him as they watch. 

“Bright...are you sure it was  _ this _ room?” Gil asks, trying to give his kid the benefit of the doubt. 

“YES!” Malcolm yells at him, yells at all of them in the room. They must have hid it. They must have moved it on him and-   
“Malcolm…” Gil can see the gears turning in Malcolm’s brain as he tries to figure out what’s happened, but he can also see the blood dripping down his side. 

“I had him. I had him...and someone let him out. He’s...he’s out. He’s free.” Malcolm begins to sway on his feet, black spots creeping into his vision. 

“Bright?” Gil approaches him cautiously, not sure if Malcolm will lash out. 

Malcolm is shaking his head in disbelief, looking around the room for signs of the trunk but finding none. “I...put him...in there. We were...we were supposed to be safe now…”

Gil is able to get to Malcolm when he suddenly drops, catching him before he hurts himself further. “I NEED EMS IN HERE, NOW!” Gil yells as he cradles Malcolm’s head, laying him on the floor as gently as he can. “Bright?! Bright?! Can you hear me? C’mon kid! Wake up!” 

Malcolm’s eyes flutter open to look at Gil, but instead he only sees Watkins smiling back at him. 

_ You thought you could get rid of me? Just like that? No, little Malcolm. That would have been far too easy. No, we’ll be seeing each other again real soon. I promise. _

The level of fear those simple words illicit is too much, and despite Gil’s protests, Malcolm slips away into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

As much as he wanted his eyes to open, to let the light shine through, he was too tired. He was tired of being in the dark, tired of seeing horrible snippets of his childhood, of The Girl in the Box, of his father and Watkins and the people they would hurt, of who they wanted  _ him  _ to hurt.

Instead, he was forced to stay here in the dark and be surrounded by them, crushed by them, until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His chest hurts, his side hurts, his hand hurts, his head hurts, just...everything  _ hurts _ right now and he’s  _ sick _ of it.

_ “You know, your hand wouldn’t be broken now if you had just been a good boy and stayed put. That’s on you,” a voice taunts him in the dark, causing a small whimper to escape Malcolm’s lips. It’s Watkins, and he’s stuck with him...again. “That little trap you thought you sprung? You didn’t think it was just a little  _ too  _ easy?” _

_ “Shut up,” is the first thing that Malcolm thinks to say. It’s crude and childish, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He knows he put Watkins away. He remembers picking him up, throwing him in the box and locking him up with the crowbar...right? _

_ “Ooo...good one. You really got me there, little Malcolm,” the man immediately taunts back, making Malcolm groan in frustration.  _

_ “What more do you want, Watkins? You want to kill me? Kill my family?” Malcolm asks him now, though he’s terrified of the answer.  _

_ “No...no Malcolm. Like I said, I just wanted some alone time with you. That’s all.” _

_ “Does this not count?” _

_ “Funny, but no. This is allllll in your head, boy. This definitely doesn’t count. I want the real deal. And soon.” _

“Malcolm! Malcolm, you need to wake up! Can you open your eyes? Please, kid. Just open your eyes.”

“G-Gil?”

“Yeah kid, it’s me! Open your eyes a little more. That’s it. There you go,” the reassuring voice of the older man tells him, cutting through the darkness. Malcolm is finally free of the black pit and his eyes are allowed to open, the light shocking his pupils but causing relief to wash over him.

“His heart rate is steadying, and his blood pressure is slowly returning to normal,” he can hear a nurse say, but he pays them no attention. He just looks at Gil with bleary eyes and cracks a smile. 

“Hi.”   
“Hi, kid. You had us worried just now. You were...you were having a nightmare.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Malcolm answers with a humorless laugh as his senses slowly return to him. “And wait...I don’t worry you all the time?” he adds, his lips turning up into a cheeky little grin. He feels incredibly weak, but he’s able to manage that, for Gil.

“Of course you do. You always worry about your kids,” Gil tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Here, have a drink. Your voice sounds terrible,” he adds, holding out a cup of water with a straw in it. He pushes a button on the side of the bed that slowly raises Malcolm up to a better angle.

Malcolm’s retort to the older man after taking a few sips is interrupted by the nurse stepping into his line of sight. 

“Sir, can you tell me your name and date of birth?” she asks him, holding a clipboard in her hand. He rattles it off for her, and she nods approvingly before pulling out her penlight. “Now I need you to follow the light with just your eyes, not moving your head to follow it, okay?” she tells him, and he nods. Easy enough, right?

Wrong.

The moment she flips the light on and shines it in his eyes, Gil can see the color drain from his face. Malcolm yelps and slaps the light out of her hand and turns away, reaching out for Gil as his heart rate monitor spikes once more. Gil envelops him in a hug immediately, mindful of the wires and tubes hooked up to his body.

“Mr. Bright!” the nurse exclaims, reaching down for her pen and looking to Gil for answers, who only shakes his head as he tries to calm Malcolm down. Gil rubs his back in small, gentle circles, feeling as the younger man is shaking and so close to tears, a choking sob escaping his lips before he begins to calm back down. 

“Malcolm...what’s wrong?” Gil finally asks when he feels it’s safe to do so, releasing Malcolm so he can lay back in bed once more.

“I...I’m sorry. I…”

_ “Well, we finally get to have some alone time...together.” _

“Watkins...he...he shined this light on me. In the basement. It was so dark and then…” Malcolm shakes his head, embarrassed now. “I’m fine. I promise. I’m sorry…” He squints, looking at the nurse's name tag. “Rebecca. I’m sorry Rebecca.”   
“It’s...it’s okay, Mr. Bright. I think we can skip that test for now. You seem responsive to me. I’ll go get your doctor,” she tells him, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. 

“Gil...where are…?”

“Your sister is at work and your Mom went home to shower and freshen up. They’ve both been here by your side as much as they can,” Gil assures him. “They’re gonna kill you for waking up when they both weren’t here, you know,” he adds with a smile. 

“I...I’ve been here that long that they...Gil...how long have I been here?” Malcolm asks quietly, his brow furrowing. 

“Three days, Malcolm,” Gil answers him as though it were nothing. 72 hours, at least. That’s an eternity stuck up in his own mind. “Honestly, after what you’ve been through, the doctors thought it would take longer for you to wake back up. But I told them you’re stubborn and it would only be a matter of time.”

“Gil...what about Watkins. Has he said anything? About the cabin? The Girl in the Box? Anything?” Malcolm asks with wide eyes, his heart rate spiking once more. Gil wonders if Malcolm was hooked up to a monitor at all times if this is what it would be like, constantly up and down and never at peace. 

“Bright, he-”   
“Malcolm!” The door has been flung open and his mother stands before them, holding a tray of coffees and a takeout order of food from one of the nicest restaurants in the city. Hell, Gil didn’t even know they  _ did  _ takeout there, but he’s sure an exception was made for Jessica Whitly. 

Gil turns his attention back to Malcolm, who he felt flinch at his mother’s sudden and very loud arrival.

“Mother, I-”

“How are you dear? How’s your hand? The doctor’s said you should make a full recovery with very minimal or no last effects. That’s  _ wonderful!”  _

“Jessica, take the volume down a notch,” Gil whispers at her, feeling the tension radiating off of Malcolm like a nuclear reactor. 

“I...oh.” Jessica sees what he means, her son not able to hide the discomfort on his face as well as he normally does. “I’m sorry, dear. Indoor voices,” she tells him with a gentle smile as she sets the food and drinks down on a tiny table off to the side. She’s quickly pulling up a chair at his side, fresh-faced and smelling of her expensive jasmine shampoo, the scent of it calming in it’s familiarity. 

“How are you? How does your hand feel?” she asks again. “That bastard really did a number on it,” she adds quietly, though Malcolm can hear the venom in her words as she looks at the cast. He didn’t even notice it until now, whatever drugs he’s on being absolutely  _ amazing _ in that regard. 

“No...Mother. It wasn’t him,” Malcolm corrects her, feeling as though he’s already said this at some point. “It was me.”   
Jessica and Gil look to each other and frown. 

“So...it  _ was _ you? We thought maybe you just weren’t thinking right.” Gil gives his good hand a small squeeze.

“I had to do it...to get out. Or he would have killed you,” Malcolm adds, quick to defend himself. What, do they think he would have done this on purpose? He enjoys his hands  _ not _ broken, thank you very much.

“Honey… before, you said Dad helped you...” Jessica continues in a gentle voice, talking to him like he were a child again. It’s quickly becoming agitating. 

Malcolm’s eyes turn to her, the bright blue orbs piercing her own. She’s used to seeing her son with dark circles under his eyes, but now he looks truly  _ exhausted _ . “I saw him. In the basement. He...told me what I had to do to escape,” he admits. He doesn’t want to, but he knows he can’t drop this now. They’ll only keep pressing him and pressing him and pressing him and-

“You were...seeing things again?” Gil asks him, and Malcolm immediately notices how he dances around using the word “hallucinating”. 

“Yes. Him  _ and _ Gabrielle.” The fact he imagined his therapist is at least of some comfort, right?

The other two are silent, and the silence is as agitating as the baby talk. 

“I was a bit stressed, okay!” he finally exclaims, throwing his hands in the air to break the tension that he knows he caused. He regrets the move, the sudden pull at his side sending a wave of pain through him. He grimaces and his hands fall back down weakly.

“Do you need more pain medication, dear?” his mother asks quickly, almost seeming relieved to have the subject changed, even at the expense of his pain. 

“No, I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Gil,” he starts, looking back at the man now. “Did Watkins say-“

A knock on the door interrupts them, and Malcolm nearly screams in frustration.

The door opens without anyone saying anything, and a doctor enters the room. In the brief moment the door is open, Malcolm catches a glimpse of a police officer stationed outside. Why…?

“Mr. Bright! My name is Doctor Amell,” the man smiles at him, holding a chart to his chest. He’s on the thin side and of average height, and he speaks with a soft Irish accent. “It’s nice to see you awake and talking,” he adds, moving up and extending a hand out to Malcolm. The fact he ignores Jessica and Gil tells Malcolm they’ve already been acquainted in the time he’s been here. 

Malcolm lifts his good hand up and shakes it once before letting his hand drop down again. He’s not in the mood for pleasantries. 

“Right. Well,” the doctor continues, looking over the chart now. “How are you feeling, for starters?”

“I’m fi-“

“Bright, I swear to God if you say you’re fine…” Gil interrupts, closing his eyes and sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Malcolm opens his mouth to protest and closes it, taking a moment to think of the answer that will appease them all. He doesn’t want to talk to the doctor. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to talk to Watkins and find out what else he _knows._

“My side hurts a bit and I have a headache,” he answers flatly. There. That should make them happy. 

“That’s to be expected, of course,” the doctor smiles at him gently, and Malcolm wants to scream again. It’s the same demeanor his mother had before. “But that’s good to know. We’ll make the necessary adjustments. Now, for your other injuries...” the doctor begins to rattle off medical jargon that Malcolm only half pays attention to, his eyes beginning to stare out the window of his room. The blinds are partially open, but he can still see the hustle and bustle outside. Nurse, nurse, doctor, nurse, patient, family member, nurse, doctor, Watkins, nurse-

_ Watkins. _

Malcolm jumps and once more his heart rate monitor spikes, his eyes going wide as his lower lip trembles. 

_ “GIL!” _

“What, kid?!” the man answers him, looking at the same spot Malcolm seems to be staring at. He sees nothing out of the ordinary. 

“He was there! He just walked by! He-“ Malcolm goes to get up, but all three of them stop him. “What are you doing?! We have to get him? How did he get out?!” Malcolm protests, his last question directed at Gil. 

“Mr. Bright, you need to try and relax-“ the doctor starts, but is quickly ignored. 

“Gil?  _ How did he get out?!” _

“Kid…” The older man’s heart is breaking, and he tries his best to word this without hurting Malcolm more, but he doesn’t know if that’s possible. Asking that question means he doesn’t remember that-

“We didn’t find the box, Malcolm. We didn’t find Watkins. He escaped before we got there,” he tells him, realizing that Malcolm is clutching his hand like it were a life preserver. He never wants to let go if it means Malcolm feels safe. 

“He...what?” Malcolm’s voice is hardly more than a whisper, not believing the words his mentor tells him. “But I…”

“I’m sorry, kid. We never found a trunk. He escaped.”

There’s another pause filled with nothing but painful silence.

Until Malcolm finally speaks.

“Oh.”

One word is all he says, his eyes dipping down to look at his hands, one of which still desperately clinging to Gil, the other in a hard white cast. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” Gil says again, not knowing what else to say. None of them do. 

Malcolm shakes his head and gives him a smile. It’s a show and they all know it, but they don’t say anything. “It’s okay. It’s not like it’s your fault he got away.”

“What? Malcolm,  _ no, _ ” Jessica starts, but he shakes his head again. “It wasn’t your fault, dear.”

Malcolm barks out a hurt laugh. “I had him. And he got away! How is that not my fault?”

“Mr. Bright. You sustained serious injuries, for one-“ the doctor says, trying to help. 

“So? I still had the chance to stop him, and my broken mind  _ lied to me...again! _ ” Malcolm barks back at him, his hands shaking once more. Gil gives the hand he holds yet another reassuring squeeze, but Malcolm rips his hand free. 

“Malcolm-“ Gil starts, but he’s cut off right away. 

“Stop! Everyone just stop! Please!”

The room goes silent again, apart from the rapid pulses from Malcolm’s heart rate monitor. The young man is looking straight ahead, out the window where Watkins is looking back at him.  _ Smiling.  _

Malcolm shuts his eyes and puts his hands to his ears, blocking everything out. He just needs a minute. Just one minute of  _ peace _ .

_ You failed, Malcolm. You didn’t catch me. Now I’m out there and waiting for you. Or maybe waiting for Ainsley? Maybe I’ll stop by her office while you’re in here, sitting in bed being utterly useless. _

Malcolm’s eyes shoot open. 

“If Watkins is free, what about Ainsley? Is she-“

“She has an officer watching her at all times, Bright,” Gil assures him, relieved to hear him talking again.

“I’ve been staying at her apartment, as dreadfully tiny as it is,” his mother adds. “So we’re in the same place, and safe.”

Malcolm at least nods at this, the monitor slowing down its incessant beeps. 

“Good...that’s good.” He frowns, though. “When can I leave?”

“What? Malcolm, you just woke up, darling,” his mother protests.

“I’m fine. I have to catch Watkins, Mother. For good,” he tells her. 

“Mr. Bright, I strongly advise against leaving anytime soon. Your body needs to heal. Moving too much might rupture your stitches. You have a concussion as well, and we have tests to run-“ the doctor tells him, but is cut off. Nobody is letting anyone finish a sentence now, it seems. 

“Fine. Run your tests. But I’m leaving as soon as they’re done. I’ll sign out AMA. I don’t care. My family is at risk,” Malcolm answers, venom in his words. 

“...very well. We’ll get you scheduled.” The doctor writes some notes down and heads for the door, Malcolm staring daggers in his back until he’s gone.

“Kid, just let us handle this. Please,” Gil pleads with him. “Dani, JT, and I...we’ve got this.”

“He won’t come out for you, Gil.” Malcolm looks over at Gil and smiles sadly. 

“It’s me he wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for the kind words and kudos ya'll are leaving. Like I said this is my first published fic and it really means a lot! (◠‿◠✿)
> 
> I have NO idea how long this fic will go, so...stay tuned for more lol
> 
> And again, any suggestions/comments/headcanons you'd like to share are helpful!


	3. Chapter 3

“Bright, I know your head is pretty scrambled, but come on, you  _ have  _ to know how stupid it is to be here, right?” JT stands across from Malcolm in the conference room, arms folded across his chest. Dani and Gil are with him, all three watching the man frantically looking over the whiteboard. “You look like you’re gonna fall over any second-”

“I’m fine,” is the answer they all receive, and there’s a collective sigh in the room. 

“Can we start a swear jar? Except it’s for the word ‘fine’? We’d be rich in no time,” Dani scoffs and rolls her eyes, hiding the worry in her tone. She’s seen how badgering Bright about his health (or lack thereof) has been completely ineffective coming from Gil and JT. JT of all people surprises her with his level of concern for the manic young man. He seemed like he was about to fireman’s carry him out of the hospital when Malcolm first began to refuse the obligatory wheelchair ride. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. 

No, she knows they have to let Bright work, and he can’t work if he’s busy trying to assure other people. The sooner they catch Watkins, the sooner he can rest, well...Malcolm’s form of rest that is. Some licorice and a coffee will probably be all he says he needs, but she will  _ force  _ that boy to take a nap, dammit. 

“Kid, what are you seeing?” Gil reluctantly asks, having gathered what Dani is trying to do, and as much as he hates it, he agrees. The sooner this is handled, the better. He just wishes Bright wasn’t right, that Watkins could be caught without him. But he eluded capture for how many years now? A serial killer on  _ nobody’s  _ radar who was only sniffed out because the son of The Surgeon returned home. 

“Right now...it’s just where Watkins  _ isn’t  _ going to be. He isn’t going back to his junkyard. He’s not going to his grandmother’s house. He or Paul Lazar had no other property in their names in the city, right?”

“Right,” Dani confirms for him. “The only other possible location was the cabin, but there was no sign he was living there when we checked. There was some squatters stuff, but no DNA we found was his.” It wasn’t too long ago, less than a week, that she had to call Gil and say it was a dead end. And now Bright is here when he should still be in the hospital, or the very least at home in bed, trying to figure this puzzle out once more. How does he have the stamina for this? Just looking at him and she wants a blanket and pillow. 

“So where else can he hide?” Malcolm asks, looking over the city map of New York as though a flashing arrow will appear at some point. “Where would he feel safe? Does his grandmother own any property?”

“Not that we were able to find, no,” Dani answers again. She hears Malcolm grunt in frustration. 

“And there’s no records of employment for him?”

“Not that we can trace.” Another grunt, louder this time as she sees Malcolm tensing up.

“He has to have been living  _ somewhere _ above ground. We just have to find where.”

“It’s a big city, bro,” JT answers.

“I KNOW AND THAT’S NOT EXACTLY  _ HELPFUL,  _ IS IT JT?!!” Malcolm suddenly snaps, throwing the red pen he was holding at the board. It bounces off it and falls to the floor, rolling to Dani’s feet. 

“JT, Dani, give us five,” Gil says, and when Dani looks over at him, he shoots her back a look that can only mean  _ now. _

Dani and JT exit the room, not before the woman puts the pen up on the table again. The door is shut and Gil forces himself to be in Malcolm’s line of view, turning the young man by the shoulders so he’ll look at him. Gil is about to tell him that doing things like that isn’t helping anyone, to remind him that all JT and Dani want to do is help, but he can see the tears already pouring down Malcolm’s cheeks. 

“Oh...kid.” 

“Gil, Gil I’m  _ sorry.  _ I’m so sorry. I…” Malcolm’s head is hung in shame, his palms pushed into his eyes as the older man brings him in for a gentle hug. “He almost killed Ainsley and Mom. He could have  _ killed  _ them. He could have taken them from me and I would have only been left with...with... _ him _ and I don’t want to be left with just  _ him _ and-” He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, and Gil can see how frantic he’s become as Malcolm no doubts means his father when he says ‘him’. Dammit. He knows he probably should have invoked Kendra’s Law on Malcolm, but he also knows the kid would never forgive him, even if it would have been for his own good. 

“Sit, kid,” he orders instead, guiding Bright down to a chair. The young man lets out a new cry of pain as he sits, the awkward scrunching of the stitches in his side reminding him yet again of what Watkins has done to him. 

“Did you take your pills?” 

“No. I don’t think straight with them and I  _ need _ to think straight-”

“You’ll be on the  _ ground _ if you’re in too much pain, Malcolm. Where are they?”

“In my coat.”

Gil heads over to the chair Malcolm had carelessly thrown his suit jacket into when he first got here and rummages through the pockets. He finds five different bottles of pills in them, and he takes them all, grabbing a cup of water from the cooler as well. He sets them all down on the conference table and looks through them. Painkillers. His anti-psychotics. Antibiotics. Two others with names he can’t even begin to pronounce even though he heard the doctor say them about 12 times. He looks at the times of when they are supposed to be taken, and he doubts Malcolm has followed any sort of schedule with them, other than his anti-psychotics. He hopes. 

“When was the last time you took these?” he asks simply, pushing forward the painkillers and antibiotics. Malcolm still hangs his head, wiping the last of his tears with his none-casted hand. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, and Gil knows it’s the truth this time. 

“Did you eat this morning like I asked you to?” 

“Does coffee count?”

“No, Bright.”   
“Then no.”

Gil pulls out his phone and texts Dani.  _ Grab a pack of trail mix from my desk and bring it here, please. _

“We’ll assume by the pain you’re in now that you didn’t take any this morning, okay? So that’s…” He begins to open each bottle and count out the correct dosage for the kid, Malcolm staring the entire time. Finally, the pill caps each contain one or two pills, depending on what their dosage requires. There’s a knock on the door and Gil shoots up, answering it and keeping Dani from seeing all of the pills on the table. She silently hands over the trail mix and he gives her a smile in thanks before shutting it again. 

He drops the snack onto the table as Malcolm stares at the pills, not moving. 

_ Junkie _ .  _ You’re just a junkie. A filthy little junkie that was my next mission. I could have saved you Malcolm. We could have worked so well together. _

Malcolm flinches and looks around, spotting Watkins in the corner of the room, the other man frowning at him. Malcolm’s breath hitches in his chest and his eyes go wide. 

_ We still can work together. I can help you. Let me help, little Malcolm. _

“Kid?”

Gil brings him back by placing his hand over Malcolm's trembling one. He turns to face Gil, then looks back at the corner and finds it empty. 

“Take your medication and have a snack, Malcolm. They’ll help. I promise,” Gil smiles reassuringly at him, and Malcolm knows it’s true. Gil would never lie to him. He trusts the man with his life. 

_ Take the pills and you’ll feel better? That’s a joke. No pill will ever fix you, Malcolm. You need salvation, and only I can give you that. _

One by one, and with a trembling hand, Malcolm takes his pills, doing his best to ignore the man taunting him right behind his shoulder now. 

Pill. 

Sip of water. 

Pill. 

Sip. 

Pill. 

Sip. 

Until all eight of them are gone. 

“Good job, kid,” Gil smiles at Malcolm and gives him a light squeeze on the back of the neck. He’s always been so patient with him, so much more patient than Malcolm deserves. 

_ He’s only this nice to you because he’s indebted to you, you know. Nobody would really tolerate you the way he does if they weren’t bound to you like that.  _

“You’re wrong,” Malcolm whispers as he closes his eyes, causing Gil to frown. “Wrong about what?”

Malcolm’s eyes back shoot open, the bright blue of them always catching Gil off guard. 

“Nothing. Sorry.” He looks at the trail mix, desperate to change the subject. “Can I…?”

“Yes, of course, kid. All yours” Gil rips open the bag and hands it over, happy that the kid is interested in eating right now. “Don’t just pick out the M&Ms either,” he jokes. 

Malcolm smiles back and Gil’s heart could burst at the sight. Smiles from Malcolm lately have been so rare, understandably, so anything he can do to put one on his face and he’ll do it. 

Malcolms dumps the bag and begins to sort the pieces into their own separate piles on the table, peanuts on the left, M&Ms next, then raisins, then the sunflower seeds. Doing it takes some time, but Gil knows the process in and of itself is therapeutic for his boy. He’s never trusted foods he doesn’t prepare himself, and this at least gives him  _ some  _ control over what he eats, if only a little. Gil stays quiet the entire time and simply watches as Bright’s shoulders lower, how his breathing steadies, and his tremor in his right hand slows as he focuses. He needed this break.

One by one the piles disappear, and Gil is absolutely  _ beaming _ by the time Malcolm eats the last sunflower seed. 

“Feeling better, kiddo?” Gil asks him like he were twelve and had a rough day at school, but this time, Malcolm doesn’t feel like it’s condescending. Not like in the hospital.

“Yes,” he answers simply. 

“Glad to hear it. How about...how about we call it a day, okay?” Gil asks gently, testing the waters. 

Malcolm’s eyes snap up, and he immediately knows he shouldn’t have asked. 

“I’m fine and we don’t have the luxury of  _ time, _ Gil. I have to figure out where he is.  _ Now.” _

Gil sighs and rubs his goatee, which is quickly turning into a beard. He doesn’t remember the last time he shaved, what with the abduction and the nights spent in the hospital and all that. 

“Alright. What are we going to-?”

Malcolm’s phone rings in his pocket, and he slips it out. Gil sees him frown when he looks at the caller ID. 

“Who is it?”

“Unknown.”  _ Swipe.  _ “Hello?”

“Malcolm! There you are. How’s the side doing?” 

Gil sees the color drain from Malcolm’s cheeks as he jumps up out of his seat. All the progress they just made...gone...in an instant. 

_ Speakerphone,  _ Gil mouths to Malcolm, who somehow hits the correct button with how much his hand shakes and drops the phone on the table. 

“Why...why do you care, John?”

“I’m not  _ heartless _ , Malcolm. I told you, you have trials to go through. Trials I intend to have you finish. I think you kind of cheated with this one, though, having a doctor sew you up and all. I just had the rusty fish hook and fishing line after all. But, we’ll say you passed this one.” 

Gil pulls out his phone and texts Dani.

_ See if you can trace the incoming call Bright just answered. It’s Watkins! _

“Well...that’s good. Glad to hear it. Can I be done now?” Malcolm manages to ask him in a sarcastic tone, but Gil can see he’s terrified. Gil manages to silently coax him back into the chair.

“Of course not, little Malcolm. That would be too easy. I’ve got much more in store for you.”

There’s a pause that’s filled with the sound of a train going by. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon. And say hi to your cop friend there too.”

_ Click _ .

The door opens and it’s Dani and JT once more, and Dani shakes her head. “We got nothing. It was too short a call,” she tells them with a frown. 

Gil turns to Malcolm, who’s gone silent and deathly pale. 

“Kid, you’re safe. You’ll be fine. There’s no way he can get to you, I promise,” Gil assures him, but he can’t help but think of something he was taught by a sergeant of his years and years ago.  _ Never make promises to victims you can’t keep, even if it will make them feel better in the moment. Because it will only be that much worse if that promise gets broken.  _

“No, Gil. You don’t know. You just don’t know,” Malcolm whispers, staring at the spot in the corner of the room again. Watkins is there, swinging his ax around like it were a toy, and smiling.

Gil goes to interject when a spot of red catches his eye. He looks down at Malcolm’s left side and sees bright red seeping through his light blue dress shirt. 

“Malcolm, your stitches-” he starts, but Malcolms is already slumping forward, Gil able to catch him again. 

As Gil guides him down to the floor once more, Malcolm’s head lolls to the side, looking at the corner. Before darkness overtakes him, he sees John’s boots approach. The man drops down into a crouch before him, ax on his shoulder. He tilts his head and smiles. 

_ You really are weak, Malcolm. But I’ll fix that. Don’t worry. I’ll fix you up good.  _

Malcolm’s eyes roll back in his head despite Gil pleading with him not to.

_ See you soon, kiddo. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ya'll! I wanted to get this chapter out before the finale tomorrow! I hope our boy John shows up because honestly what could be better than having more bad shit thrown at Malcolm on top of all the other bad shit lately?? Pile it on, I say!
> 
> Also, the finale is airing on my birthday! So my birthday wish is that it's just the season finale instead of the series finale, because I will cry myself to sleep if this shit gets canceled (◕‿◕✿)


	4. Chapter 4

He feels like he’s floating.

That’s the only way to describe this odd feeling surrounding him, like gravity isn’t a factor anymore and he’s just there, ethereal. His eyes aren’t open, or if they are, all he sees is darkness...but he just can’t tell. There’s no light, there’s no sound, there’s no smell. There’s just an endless void of darkness that’s swallowing him up and never letting go. 

It would be terrifying to anyone other than him, but Malcolm feels at peace for a change. There’s nothing here to haunt him. There’s nothing here trying to hurt him or his family. He just gets to be here, safe and sound, and enjoy the serenity of it. 

But peace like this never lasts, does it? Something always has to interrupt it, and right now, that’s a voice calling to him from somewhere in the distance. Moving towards it, his legs guiding the way without him even having to tell them to move, Malcolm follows the voice. He doesn’t want to, but what if it’s Gil needing help? Or Dani? His sister or mother? He can tell it’s not JT, because he knows that he’s the  _ last _ person JT would ask for help from. So who is it?

_ “My boy.” _

The two simple words from the eerily calming voice, so filled with undeserved pride, hit him like a train. His father is suddenly before him, standing there in his crisp red sweater, looking the same as he did the night he was arrested. 

_ “I’m sorry my former...associate...did this to you. He had no right to hurt you.”  _

Malcolm can’t move, can’t speak, can’t  _ breathe  _ at the sight of his father, free of chains, and with nothing between him. The rational part of his mind that’s barely functioning is trying to get through to him and tell him this isn’t real, it can’t be, but oh God is it failing miserably. 

_ “There’s nothing to be afraid of, my boy. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe from him.” _

Martin moves towards him, putting a hand on Malcolm’s cheek. He’s too terrified to move, to escape the unwanted touch.

_ “All you have to do is stay with me. Nothing can hurt you here. Just stay-” _

“-with us, Malcolm. Please.” 

Malcolm’s eyes blink open slowly, the bright lights of a hospital room immediately irritating him. 

_ He doesn’t want to be here. They know he doesn’t want to be here. Why did they bring him  _ back  _ here? _

“Malcolm?” It’s Gil, again. The sight of him in his cozy black turtleneck causes the irritation to fade away. It’s such a comforting, familiar look that he can’t help but smile.

“Hey...again.”

“Christ kid. You’re going to give me a heart attack,” Gil sighs, exasperated. He rubs his goatee before taking Malcolm’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he starts, then sighs when he gets a glare from the older man in return. “I...hurt a bit,” he expands upon. “Not as much as before. I...what happened?” He remembers being in the conference room, and eating something, then…

He can see Gil grow anxious at the question, but he knows the man won’t hide things from him. Not something that lands him back in the hospital, at least. 

“Watkins...he called you. Don’t know how he got your phone number, but he called you. You jumped up and ruptured your stitches.” Gil lets go of Malcolm’s hand to rub the back of his own neck. “Got blood all over our nice floors too,” he adds with a smile.

“Oh, I’m  _ so  _ sorry about that,” Malcolm replies sarcastically, trying to avoid thinking more about what Gil just said. Watkins called him...knew his phone number...knew he…

“You weren’t able to trace it, were you?” he asks hopefully.

Gil shakes his head, that spark of hope gone in an instant. “He wasn’t on the line long enough, and I think even if he had been on longer, it would have been to some random payphone. He’s smart, kid.

Malcolm frowns as he tries to remember what else happened. ”He said something...about you. To say hi to you. Didn’t he?” Malcolm has his face screwed up in concentration, the memories of the event still foggy. But he remembers  _ that  _ detail _. _ “So he knew I was with you. He was...he was watching me. Watching us.”

“We’re already on it, kid. Looking over security footage and everything. He wasn’t in the building, if that’s what you were thinking,” Gil can’t help but give him a sad smile. His kid  _ just _ woke up after passing out from blood loss and his brain is already back on the case. The FBI really let a good agent get away from them. 

“What about across the street?” Malcolm suddenly asks. 

“Huh?” Gil raises a brow, then follows where he’s going with this.

“It’s a hotel across from the west side of the precinct, isn’t it? A half-block down?” Malcolm continues, the gears turning along with Gil’s. “With rooms facing the same side the conference room window is on?” 

“Yeah, it is. The Pegasus. You think he was watching from there?” Gil asks, though he already knows the answer. 

Malcolm nods. “He rents a room on the same floor as ours and with a good enough pair of binoculars, or even a telescope...”

“I’ll call Dani now. Maybe, just maybe he’s still there. Good thinking, kid.” Gil gets up and dials her number, pacing the room. 

“You’re not going yourself?” Malcolm asks, raising a brow.

“No, because I have to make sure you stay  _ here, _ ” Gil answers sharply before Dani answers. Malcolm visibly deflates the moment Gil turns away. “Dani. Get a SWAT unit as discreetly as you can to The Pegasus. Bright thinks Watkins is holed up in a room there.” A pause. “Yes, Malcolm is awake. He’ll be fine. You know how he is.” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Let me know what you find.”

Gil hangs up and turns back to Malcolm, who forces himself to perk back up again. 

“Dani says you’re an idiot for leaving the hospital too soon, and that she’ll personally kick your ass if you try to leave today.”

“Wow, I feel the love,” Malcolm smiles glumly, looking out the window. 

“Good, because you should. You scared us to death, Malcolm. We never should have let you leave before. It was too soon.” Gil sits back down in the chair he’s been occupying for hours now. “Please, and I am  _ begging  _ you here, kid. Please stay here at least for the night and get some  _ rest. _ ”

“Gil, he-” Malcolm starts, still looking out the window and away from Gil. 

“He might be caught in a few minutes because of your idea. And if he’s not? What’s another day? You need to recuperate, Bright. You can’t help anyone if you can’t help yourself.” Gil takes Malcolm’s hand once more and squeezes it, causing Malcolm to turn and face him. “And if it’s any consolation, I think he’s stopped kidnapping and killing junkies and prostitutes because of you. So that’s good...right?” It’s not the ideal situation, to have a serial killer’s focus  _ entirely  _ on Malcolm, but he’s not going after other people in the meantime.

“Yes.” Malcolm looks down at the man holding his hand and sees Gil’s wedding ring. 

“I miss Jackie,” he whispers, catching Gil completely by surprise.

“I...I do too, kid,” the older man answers, looking down at the ring with Malcolm. “She’d bring a bowl of her lemon chicken soup for you right now.”

“And she’d probably give me a little smack on the back of the head for leaving the hospital before,” Malcolm adds, his smile growing. He uses the cast on his other hand to wipe away the tears that sprung upon him. “Like that cool old guy on that show we used to watch. Gibbs?”

“I’d say you’ve earned one,” Gil laughs, the memories of the three of them curled up on the couch on Tuesday nights watching the show. At first, Gil didn’t think Malcolm should be watching these crime dramas, but they fascinated the kid and helped him cope, it seemed. They always got the bad guy and solved the case in the end. They were doing good by putting bad guys away one by one, just like Malcolm would be doing when he would be older. 

“Yeah...I have. I know.” Malcolm wants to launch into the defensive mode, to say that  _ he  _ needs to be out there to lure Watkins in, but he knows it’s not going to do anything. And besides, the door opens before he can start. 

“Mr. Bright. I figured I would see you again soon,” the kind-looking Irish doctor from his last stay here says as he enters the room and shuts it behind him. “I thought we went over your aftercare thoroughly? No strenuous activity?”

Malcolm looks to Gil with a raised brow.

“Yeah, Malcolm. I don’t know why you thought  _ you  _ needed to vacuum your house when I could have done it,” Gil tells him with a wink before turning back to the doctor. “It won’t happen again, Doctor Amell,” he adds, looking up at the doctor. 

“That’s good. I don’t want to have to commit you!” the doctor jokes with a laugh, though Malcolm finds absolutely  _ zero  _ humor in it. Gil can feel Malcolm flinch at the word. 

“Now Mr. Bright, we had to resuture a few stitches, but other than that, you seem to be on the mend.” The doctor moves to the other side of the bed and hesitates, looking to Malcolm for approval to look at his wound. Malcolm reluctantly nods, and the hospital gown is shifted to reveal the bandages on his side with limited blood on them. It’s a good sign, at least. “You just need to, because I have a feeling you’re going to check out of here the second you’re able, go home and  _ lie down. _ I cannot stress that enough. Despite the IV, you have lost a considerable amount of blood and need to let your body heal itself. No going to work. No going to the store. No cleaning, for goodness sake. Just climb in bed and put on Netflix.” After checking over the wound thoroughly, he puts the gown back in place. “You look like a guy who likes history. I highly recommend  _ Medici. _ ” Doctor Amell moves to the foot of the bed and looks over Malcolm’s chart. “Everything seems to be in order, considering. But…” he looks to Gil, then back to Malcolm. “...I would like to ask you some questions. Privately, if you don’t mind.”

Gil looks over to Malcolm, who nods his head slightly. Gil releases his hand and heads for the door.

“I’ll go get a coffee,” he reluctantly declares, closing the door behind him. He knows he isn’t actually Malcolm’s family, or that Malcolm is underage and needs a guardian with him, but still...he feels like he should be there. To hear the truth for once instead of just “I’m fine” in order to help him heal better. That is, if Malcolm bothers to tell this doctor the truth. His boy does have his trust issues, even with medical professionals. It took weeks before he truly opened up to Doctor Le Deux.

Gil makes his way past the officer standing watch at Malcolm’s door and moves down the hall. He finds a vending machine, opting instead for a sports drink and a bag of gummy worms for the kid. Pocketing the snack and taking a sip of the drink, he walks the halls of the hospital, giving his legs a much-needed stretch. While making his second lap of the floor, he feels a buzz in his pocket. Eagerly, he grabs it, hoping it’s Dani or JT with good news. It’s only then that he sees a name that instantly puts a big rock in his stomach, the caller ID coming up “Jessica Whitley”.

He forgot to call her. 

He briefly considers letting it go to voicemail, but he knows he’ll only catch more hell later if he does. He answers it.

“Hi, Jess.”

“Oh, thank God  _ someone _ finally answered me! I’ve been trying to get a hold of Malcolm all day. He’s not at his loft, and he hasn’t come by Ainsley’s apartment. Is he with you? He’s with you, right?”

“Yes, I’ve got him.”

“Tell me he wasn’t working.”

“Okay...I won’t.”

“ _ Gil! _ ”

“He’s fine, Jess. Just...we’re back in the hospital now. He tore a few stitches and-”   
“He  _ WHAT?!” _

“He tore his stitches and passed out. He’s okay, though. The doctor said he’ll be fine, and they’re talking now. Malcolm just needs to be on bedrest-”

“Gil, that’s what he told me he  _ was  _ doing!”

Gil rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. And I promise to get him home and keep him there, Jess. I’ll bring any info to his apartment about the case if it means he stays put.”

“Gil, you  _ better _ keep him there or I will-”

“Oh no Jess, going into an elevator. Probably going to lose you. Bye!”

_ Click. _

Sure, that was the cowardly way to end that conversation, but he knew there was no winning with Jessica Whitley. Not when it comes to her children. 

He makes his way around the floor once more then heads back to Malcolm’s room. He can see the doctor is no longer there, and that Malcolm is sitting upright in bed, a nurse removing the IV in his left arm as he no doubt signs the AMA orders with his right. 

Gil opens the door and is instantly frowning.

“Bright, I thought we talked about this!” he says, clearly exasperated. He should be the one with the blood pressure monitor on him, not the kid. 

“We did...and I never agreed to stay. I can’t sleep here, Gil. You know that. I can’t handle the smell.” The pungent aroma of disinfectants is something Gil has become nose blind to with how often he’s had to be in a hospital, but he understands what Malcolm means. 

“Just remember I warned you about Dani,” Gil sighs, knowing there’s no arguing with Bright. “You’re either staying in my apartment or yours, then. You choose,” Gil adds, crossing his arms. 

“Mine. I miss Sunshine.” The thought of the bird makes him smile through the pain as the nurse finishes unhooking him from all the different devices he didn’t know he was plugged into. 

“Then it’s settled. We’re going there straight away. No stopping by the office.”

“But the case files-”   
Gil holds up a hand. “-can be brought over by someone.”

“Gil, it’s just a short detour-”   
“No.”

Malcolm huffs dramatically as the nurse scoops up the AMA paperwork and heads for the door. She gives Gil a pat on the shoulder before leaving, as if to say “Your kid is as difficult as mine was, but you’re still a good parent!”

“Do you need help with your clothes?” Gil asks, Malcolm’s pants and bloody button-down shirt folded up on the bed now. He wishes he had gotten him a different one to change into, but the thought never came to mind until now. He had been a  _ little _ preoccupied in dealing with all...this. 

“Just the buttons,” Malcolm answers reluctantly in a small voice as he slips the rest of it on. He can manage everything but the shirt buttons with his one hand.

Gil moves over and helps him out, going bottom to top with them. He makes quick work of it, knowing Malcolm doesn’t like asking for help. When it's done, Malcolm moves on to the rest of it while Gil draws the curtain to give him some privacy. 

Dressed and ready to leave, the nurse returns with the obligatory wheelchair to ride out of here in, and Malcolm hesitates to sink into it. 

They soon make their way out of the hospital, and Gil goes ahead to bring his car up. After helping Malcolm inside, they drive off, making their way to the loft. Malcolm has just begun to doze off when Gil’s phone ringing snaps him back to attention. He looks over at Gil, who answers the phone and puts it on speaker. 

“Dani, you’re on with Bright. What’s happened?”

“Hey, boss. Hey...Bright,” she says, sounding much less thrilled to know Malcolm is on the line. He knows it’s nothing personal, but that she doesn’t have good news. “You were right. Watkins checked into The Pegasus under his old name, Paul Lazar. He was in a room on the 8th floor, east side. He booked the room for last night and today, and we found a telescope in the room, nothing more. The only other thing out of place was that the hotel bible was on the nightstand rather than in it.”

Malcolm’s heart drops into his stomach. 

So Watkins  _ was _ spying on them.

“Anything else, Dani?” Gil presses. 

“There...was a note hanging from the telescope. All it said was Psalm 32:8.”

Gil grits his teeth. “What verse is that?”

Before Dani can answer, Malcolm speaks up quietly from beside him, staring straight out the windshield and looking at nothing in particular. 

_“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go._ _I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, all! I hope you're enjoying reading this as I am writing this. Gotta say I was a little disappointed in our lack of John in the finale (unless...spoiler alert...you count Ainsley's method of getting ride of Endicott as a John appearance! Loved it!) So I hope this is making up for it. Yes, he hasn't made an appearance since the first chapter, (other than fun lil hallucinations, of course), but he will be soon! 
> 
> Thank you again for all the love and support!! ♥️


	5. Chapter 5

_I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go._ _I will counsel you with my loving eye on you._

The words echo in Malcolm’s head long after they’ve arrived back at his apartment. Gil had to all but force him to go lie down, plopping him down in his bed and easing him flat. Malcolm flinched at the pull of his stitches, but other than that, he didn’t say or do anything. 

Gil has gone to work closing the curtains and organizing Malcolm’s new pills on the kitchen island, writing out a schedule that’s all on one sheet of paper rather than trying to figure it out bottle by bottle.

With that done, he feeds Sunshine, who happily trills from her cage at the company as if to say “Oh boy! A new person!” 

With her content, he fixes up a simple snack for Malcolm, a small bowl of pretzels, and a glass of water. If he can get the kid to eat the salty pretzels, he’ll be thirsty and actually drink the water. Win-win!

“Alright, kiddo, here we are,” Gil says as he walks up to the bed, holding the bowl in one hand and the glass in the other. He sets the bowl down on Malcolm’s stomach, forcing him to at least acknowledge its existence. He knows how much of a struggle it is for him to eat, but he needs to. The last thing he had was that small packet of trail mix this morning, and now the sun is setting. 

“I’m not hungry,” is the answer he was expecting, but when he hears it come out of Malcolm’s mouth, he wasn’t expecting it to sound so  _ sad. _

“Yes, you are. I know you are. Someone as skinny as you still has to eat,” Gil smiles warmly at him as he sits down on the bed beside him. Malcolm takes the bowl and sets it on his nightstand before turning and laying on his side, away from Gil. He can’t look at him. Not now, at least. 

_ He’s only this nice to you because he’s indebted to you, you know. Nobody would really tolerate you the way he does if they weren’t bound to you like that.  _

Malcolm cringes at the words of John Watkins in his ears, although they aren’t even truly John’s, are they? No, he only  _ imagined  _ John saying that to him...but oh do they feel real. Real because of how often he’s thought that himself, that Gil only  _ tolerates  _ him because he warned him about the tea. 

Because who would genuinely want to be around him? He’s a trainwreck of a person. His mental health is held together by countless medications and duct tape. His emotional state is always changing, like the highs and lows of a rollercoaster. His father is a  _ serial killer _ for crying out loud. Why would  _ anyone _ want to continue to associate with him?

“Bright?”

Gil’s kind voice once again cuts through the dark cloud of thoughts surrounding him. 

“Why are you so nice to me, Gil?” Malcolm asks seemingly out of the blue, causing Gil to raise a brow.    
“What?”

“Why...did you continue to be so nice to me, Gil? After the trial and everything? You could have just said goodbye and been done with me. It would have saved you and Jackie so much-”   
“Kid, listen up.” Gil moves around the bed so that Malcolm has to face him. It’s not like he can roll onto his other side that’s been recently stabbed. But Malcolm does close his eyes and buries his face in the pillow, which makes Gil’s heart break. He’s seen him do this before, closing his eyes like a kid would when afraid.  _ The bad guy can’t see me if I can’t see him _ .

“If you’re talking about all the nights you woke up screaming from a night terror...or when we would clean you up after some bullies got you, or any of the other troubles you found yourself in...we wouldn’t have traded that for the world.” Gil brushes Malcolm’s hair back out of his face. “The night you called the police on your own father was one of...no it  _ was _ the bravest thing I’ve ever seen on the force. And you were  _ ten. _ You loved your father, and that’s okay, but you knew that he was doing something  _ wrong _ and  _ you _ put a stop to it. You saved so many lives, kid. Including mine.”

Malcolm doesn’t say anything, so Gil continues. His boy needs to hear this. 

“You were forced to grow up so fast,  _ too fast,  _ for someone your age. You didn’t get to enjoy the rest of your childhood like you deserved. You deserved to be happy, Malcolm, and if I was able to help in any part of that, then I was going to. So yeah...waking up to you screaming was hard, and seeing you get hurt by idiots who didn’t realize you did the  _ right  _ thing was hard, but you know what was easy?”

Malcolm turns his head back and opens his eyes slowly to look at Gil. “What?”

“Loving you. That was the easiest thing in the world. You and Ainsley were the children Jackie and I always wanted. And she would thank God in her prayers for sending you two to us.”

He didn’t mean to make Malcolm cry, but he can see the tears form in those bright blue orbs. 

“So please don’t ever think that you were a...a burden...or anything like that. Sure, you’ve been a big pain in my ass lately-” Malcolm smiles, making Gil smile in return. “-but God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, right?” 

Malcolm nods and wipes away a tear with his good hand. He was never religious growing up with his parents, but with Gil and Jackie, especially Jackie, he knew it meant a lot to her to just listen to her read the Bible to him. And she only read the nice parts, the ones about love and kindness, not the scary stuff about plagues and hellfire and all that. That’s how he knew the Bible verse that John left for him. It was one that Jackie would say to him often, and how Gil would be the one helping and guiding Malcolm if he ever needed it. That verse was a happy one to him for so many times, and now...now it’s been tainted by John Watkins. 

“Right. Now eat the pretzels and get some sleep, please. I have some calls to make, one being to your mother. Wish me luck on convincing her to not come over here tonight. I’ll never get her to leave then,” Gil tells him with a smile and pats Malcolm’s hand before handing him the small bowl again. Malcolm takes it this time and begins munching on one. 

“Thank you, Gil,” he tells him quietly after he finishes the one and moves on to the second.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

An hour passes and Malcolm is finally asleep, leaving Gil to catch his breath for a change. He’s been doing his best to not show how on edge he is about the health of Malcolm, or how there’s a serial killer after him  _ again _ and they have barely anything to go on in finding him. Maybe Malcolm is right, in that the only way they’re going to lure Watkins out is with him. But they can’t do that, as much as he knows Malcolm would agree to be bait. That’s half the problem right there: the kid lacks any sense of self-preservation. 

After making the rounds of the apartment once more and checking all the doors and windows are locked, Gil finds the liquor cart seemingly waiting for him near Malcolm’s weapon display, it sitting out a little more than usual. He can’t blame the kid for hitting the booze lately, but he hopes it wasn’t too hard. He pours himself a glass of scotch that probably cost as much as his yearly salary before taking a seat on Malcolm’s couch. Finding the remote, he flips on the TV, immediately putting it on mute so as not to wake Bright up. He avoids the nightly news and scrolls through the endless channels until he finds a rerun of Game 7 of the 2001 World Series and settles in to enjoy the classic game, even though he knows it ends with his Yankees losing. It’s only the bottom of the third inning now, with Tony Womack leading things off. Plenty of game left to watch.

Taking a few good sips of scotch, he thinks of his conversation with Jess and how he was able to get her to stay with Ainsley for the night. He should buy a lottery ticket in the morning for being that lucky.    
_ “Just get him to sleep the night and I’ll be there in the morning. Around 10am?”  _ she had told him, and he agreed. He’s glad she suggested later, that hopefully it meant Malcolm would actually sleep in for a change, but he doubts it. 

His call to Dani was uneventful, with no more evidence found at the hotel room, just the note, the Bible on the bed, and the telescope. And no more bodies turned up fitting Watkins’ MO of being crushed, either, so...that’s positive. What would Watkins do if he couldn’t get a hold of Bright? Would he go back to killing junkies and prostitutes? Or would he develop an obsession of the boy like Martin has, and never stop trying to get him? To fulfill his “mission”?

_ “...their most valuable player. And here he is with a chance to win the World Series for the Diamondbacks.” _

Gil opens his eyes -when did he close them?- to find it’s the bottom of the ninth now, with bases loaded. Wait...it was just the third, though?

He checks his watch and sees it’s two hours later than when he first turned the TV on. How? He wasn’t even that tired. Maybe it just snuck up on him? 

Looking down, he sees the glass he was drinking from has fallen to the floor, shattered into a million pieces. “Shit,” he hisses to himself, going to stand. When did he drop that, and did Bright not hear it? How did  _ he _ not hear it?

When he gets on his feet, he nearly tips right over, his entire body feeling like mush. It’s hard to stand, hard to see straight, and he feels like he might puke. Is he sick? What the hell?

_ Push past whatever this is and check on Bright, _ he tells himself, making his way to Malcolm’s bed. It’s harder than he thought it would be to walk over to it, but he manages to make it there. He expects to see Malcolm in it, still tucked under his blanket like Gil left him, but...he’s not. The blanket is on the floor, the pillows are askew, and it just...it doesn’t look  _ right _ .    
“Malcolm?” Gil suddenly yells in the apartment, his heart racing. He heads for the bathroom, praying to God that Malcolm is in there just taking a piss or puking, literally  _ anything  _ to warrant him being there, but the light is off and the room is empty. “MALCOLM!” he yells again, praying for an answer from him. He stumbles out to the kitchen and is met with an angry trill from Sunshine of “Hey! Why’d you wake me up?!” but is met with only silence after that. He flips on all the lights in the apartment and begins to look for his boy more. Maybe he was sleepwalking and fell somewhere? What if he had a nightmare and just wanted to go out on the balcony for some fresh air? 

None of those ideas bring him Malcolm, though. It’s only when he looks at the front door to Malcolm’s apartment does he realize what’s happened. There’s a note on the door, with handwriting that no doubt matches the note found by Dani and JT. 

_ “Genesis 28:15.”  _

Gil pulls out his phone and searches for the verse on the internet, his stomach dropping.

_ “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola amigos! This past week was crazy at work so I didn't get to write this chapter til now. Hope you all enjoy this and that it's not too ridiculous for Malcolm to be kidnapped twice in like...what...a week? xD John just wants to talk I'm sure!
> 
> And again, thanks for the love and comments, this fandom is so supportive and totally rocks!


	6. Chapter 6

That floating sensation is back, only this time, it doesn’t bring Malcolm any peace. Before, the dark and the quiet and the emptiness of his mind filled him with a serenity he hardly ever got to experience. Now? Now the emptiness is telling him that something is  _ wrong,  _ so very very wrong and he doesn’t know what. 

Before, he felt like he was in an ocean of space, free to drift as far as his mind would take him. Again, now feels different. Now feels like he’s stuck, like he can’t move and isn’t free to drift. He’s confined. He’s trapped. He’s-

_ In the box. _

Malcolm lets out a scream that only bounces back at him in every direction, the sound having nowhere to go but surround him. Desperate hands reach out and only find a hard wall above and below him, and to his sides. His feet try and kick out, but his knees are forced up to his chin, giving him no space to move them. He’s trapped. In the pitch black. Just like her. Just like The Girl. 

This is a nightmare, right? Some all-too-real night terror that’s robbing him of his breath, that’s making him shake so hard he feels like he might just rattle any nails holding this prison together right out of their spots? Maybe he’s still in the hospital and sedated, and that’s why he can’t wake up. Maybe he only imagined Gil taking him home, getting him into bed, and lulling him to sleep? Or maybe that’s what this is, a night terror that Gil will soon shake him out of. That’s it. He just has to wait for Gil! He’ll get him out of here. He’ll-   
Malcolm is suddenly thrown forward in what little space he has in the box, his head smacking the wall. Well, that certainly felt  _ real.  _

He forces himself to be quiet, to try and decipher any muffled noise he can from inside this hell. He hears what sounds like the rumblings of an exhaust pipe, maybe of a truck or an old muscle car. So he’s been moved. How long have they been driving? No, no, that doesn't make sense. This  _ is _ a dream. Why would he imagine this, though? Is it punishment? Does he know that this is how The Girl felt as she was transported to her death? Maybe he  _ did _ see this unfold on the camping trip, and he isn’t remembering it until now? What time is it? What if-

The rumbling of the engine ceases.

_ What if this isn’t a dream? _

No...no it has to be. Malcolm makes a mental checklist of everything that happened, or everything that he  _ believes _ happened, as he tries to control his breathing.

Gil brought him home.

Gil put him to bed.

Gil brought him a snack and some water.

He and Gil talked.

He ate his pretzels.

He went to sleep.

He woke up.

Malcolm frowns, the memory of the last note fuzzier than the rest. He has to focus on that part. Why did he wake up?

_ There was a noise. _

What was the noise?

_ Don’t know, but you went to check it out. _

Was it Gil?

_ Gil was asleep on the couch, and there was an old baseball game on TV. _

Was it Sunshine?

_ She was asleep too, because it was late. _

So who was it?

Before he can try and remember, his question is answered for him. He hears something opening above him, no doubt the trunk of the car, then someone undoing a lock on the box he’s in. The lid of it opens, and blinding sunlight hits him, his broken hand lifting to shield his face from it. When he’s finally able to look, bleary eyes take in the sight of the ghost that’s been haunting him these past few weeks. The ghost that’s now flesh and blood once more, towering over him with a sadistic smile on his face.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Malcolm lets out another scream before he’s hauled out of the trunk, rough hands grabbing him and throwing him to the ground. He ignores the white-hot pain that runs through his broken hand from landing on it and immediately tries to get up and run, but his legs refuse to cooperate from being locked in that position for who knows how long. He tries to crawl, to put some distance between himself and that man, that  _ monster _ , but he feels a heavy boot pushing down on the middle of his back, keeping him in place no matter how much he squirms. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Little Malcolm. Not this time,” Watkins says with a heartless laugh, and deep down, as he stares at only the grass and ants beneath him, Malcolm believes him.

-x-

_ How could you be so stupid? How could you fail him this horribly, when he needed you most? You were supposed to watch out for him, protect him, keep him safe from that man, and you didn’t. You let him take my son.  _ Your  _ son. And now he’s gone. Again.  _

These are all words he expected Jessica to scream at him, but the woman chooses instead to guzzle down a glass of brandy, her third for the night since Gil, Dani, and JT made the somber trip to Ainsley’s apartment. 

Reading that note on Malcolm’s door just about killed him, because he knows what Watkins means by it. Malcolm filled him in on what they talked about in the cellar, how Watkins had his plan to make him into a killer. It was his new mission, after all. He was evolving right before the profiler’s eyes. 

And apparently, Watkins intends to keep that promise. 

Gil called CSU and the rest of the team immediately after reading that note to collect and process evidence, which is in the lab as they speak. They took samples of all the liquor, the water from his filtered pitcher in the fridge, and everything else he came into contact with that day after he described how odd he felt when he woke up. Hell, they even took the bag of pretzels. All of it is being analyzed, along with a blood sample of Gil’s, to figure out just what the  _ hell _ happened. 

“Mrs. Whitely?” Dani says, breaking up Gil’s thoughts. He looks over to Jessica, who is simply frozen on the couch, her glass now empty. “Do you have any idea where he-”   


“Do  _ not _ ask me these questions again, Detective Powell. You asked me them not even two weeks ago, and my answer is the same.” Gil has never heard Jessica sound this...hollow. He would almost prefer if she was yelling and throwing things at them. Watching her just sit there, her eyes distant as she no doubt imagines what her son is going through, is beyond difficult. He knows that she’s read the details on what The Surgeon did to his victims, and the man that’s taken her son was  _ trained _ by him. 

Suddenly, though, those eyes turn on to him, and the flash of anger in them makes his stomach drop.

“You,” she says with pure disgust in her quiet voice. “You did this.” 

“Mrs. Whitely, Gil is a victim in this too. He was drugged-” JT starts, but it’s of no use. 

“And yet here  _ he _ is, safe and sound!” Jessica snaps, getting up from the couch and slamming the glass down on the kitchen counter. They can hear it crack from the force. 

“Mom-” Ainsley finally pipes up from her desk chair, wiping tears away. “This isn’t helping…”   


“And neither are they! They’re here, telling us how they failed  _ my son _ again! How they let him get caught by that maniac  _ again.”  _ Jessica stands with her back to them, both palms flat on the countertop as she breathes deeply to try and steady herself. 

“Jessica-” Gil starts, but once more is cut off. 

“Don’t say another word, Gil.” She suddenly turns around, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Do not  _ speak _ to me unless you are telling me you found him. I don’t want to hear another word from you, from any of you, until you’re telling me you found him  _ alive _ , you got that?”

Gil nods silently and heads for the door, unable to meet even Ainsley’s eyes as he goes. JT and Dani quickly say their awkward goodbyes and give the “we’ll keep in touch” to Ainsley instead, knowing she’s the more rational one at the moment. This was a mistake in him coming here, but he had to do it, as much as it hurt. The news had to come from him. 

Her son is gone, and it’s all his fault. But he’s going to make it right. He’ll find him. 

He’ll find his boy if it’s the  _ last _ thing he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Hope you don't mind the shorter chapter. The next couple of ones are gonna be more fun (lol) for our dear boi, so this was just a short one to move it along. 
> 
> I hope this fic isn't sounding too much like others (I know I've read quite a few that are about Alone Time, like if Watkins had taken Malcolm out to a cabin and spent more time with him than like what, 3 hours like in the episode? lol). I'm doing my best to think of some original stuff but tbh I'm making this up as I go! xD Thank you again for all the hits/kudos/comments. I can't tell you how confidence-boosting it is!!


	7. Chapter 7

“I said  _ walk,  _ Malcolm,” John’s gruff voice from behind tells him, giving him a shove forward. It’s hard enough he nearly loses balance, especially with his hands now tied in front of him and keeping him from righting himself. 

“John, please-” Malcolm starts, praying there’s some chance to get through to him using his first name as his mind starts to take mental notes of everything it can. Trees, lots of trees, more trees…

_ This isn’t helpful. _

“I told you you were my mission, Malcolm. I promised you. I intend to keep my promise,” Watkins tells him simply, hoisting up the large backpack he had been carrying onto his shoulders and freeing his other hand. 

“But I don’t want to be your  _ mission _ , John. I just want to go home-”

“That’s not your destiny, though. You’re a Whitley. You are your father’s son. Why don’t you accept that?”

“Why should I have to, huh? Why?” Malcolm turns around to face John, far more angry than scared right now. “Why does  _ everyone _ say I’m like him, just because I’m his son? Why can’t I be my own man?” His eyes flare the angrier he gets, and gives John a shove without thinking, ignoring the shooting pain in his hand. “Why don’t I get a  _ choice _ ?!”

John smiles, the shove hardly moving him. “Careful now...you’ll pop your stitches again,” he tuts before pointing back at the trees behind Malcolm. “Now keep moving.” When Malcolm stands still, defiant even though he is in absolutely  _ no  _ position for it, John pulls out his knife and holds it to the tip of Malcolm’s chin. “Don’t make me give you a matching scar on the other side,” he warns him, his smile now gone. Malcolm’s anger is gone with it, his face crumpling at the sight of the knife that still looks to have his blood on it. The threat gets the response John wanted and Malcolm turns back around, walking some unknown path in the forest. 

They keep at it for a few minutes before Malcolm begins to spot strange marker popping up out of the ground, and nearly trips on one himself. They’re small, wooden crosses with numbers on them.

“John...where are we?” he dares to ask, already regretting it. He doesn’t really want to know, but if he has the chance to call Gil, he needs to give him as many details as possible.

“Somewhere special to me.” John tells him simply, Malcolm only knowing how close he is by the crunching of his boots on dead leaves. “Now just keep moving. We’re not there yet.”

They walk for maybe another mile and a half before Malcolm can see a clearing, and buildings! There might be people here! He’s about to start running when he realizes that makes no sense. Why would John bring him to a place with people? And if there are people, they’re most likely not ones he’s going to want to meet. That would be just great, if John was in a cult or something. He could be the sacrificial lamb!

“What’s so funny?” Malcolm hears behind him, and it’s only then that he realized he laughed out loud. 

“Nothing,” Malcolm grumbles back, going silent once more. He’s losing it, isn’t he? Not like he has his medications right now…

Looking around more, he sees the buildings have long been abandoned, the forest reclaiming them as vines and trees sprout all around them. There’s one large main building, almost like a manor, and a few smaller buildings flanking it. The complex looks at least a century old but abandoned only a decade or so, judging by the growth around it. There’s also a few “No Trespassing” signs scattered around that have rusted away.

“What...what is this place?” Malcolm asks, not wanting to go any closer to any of these buildings. He can almost smell the tetanus in the air. When John doesn’t answer, he looks back, finding the man looking off to the right. Malcolm follows his gaze to a wooden sign in the ground that’s nearly rotted away. It reads “New Blessings Boy’s Home”.

“This...this was home. Before my grandmother found me,” John tells him in a surprisingly soft voice, still looking at the sign. The softness doesn’t last long before he shakes his head, smiles, and wraps an arm roughly around Malcolm’s neck like an older brother, or a bully, would.

“Come on. Let me give you the tour.”

\---

“Edrisa, you’re here,” Gil states as the peppy woman walks into the conference room, more for his own sake than everyone else’s. He had been drifting off into a horrible place, thinking of what that bastard might be doing to Malcolm right now and where he’s taken him.

“Hi! Yes, the tests results came in for your blood work. You were definitely spiked with midazolam, a somewhat common benzodiazepine,” she explains, reading off her clipboard. “We tested all the food and drinks from Malcolm’s house, which wasn’t much considering it’s him, but your guess about the scotch was correct. Normally, this stuff is administered through an IV, injection, or even a spray up your nose.” She takes a breath. “Since that didn’t happen, he must have had a pretty high dose in there to get it to work. And it was in  _ all _ the liquor on Malcolm’s drink cart. Fun fact, this drug is used as the first part of executions in many states, and was linked to several botched ones-”   


“Edrisa,” JT interrupts, arms crossed. 

“Right. Sorry.” She looks over her notes. “So...I guess your next step is to figure out how Watkins came into contact with so much of that drug, right?”

“Hospital would be the safest bet, because I doubt he’s breaking  _ in _ to a prison’s death row,” Dani suggests, and Gil nods. “We contact local hospitals and see if their supplies have disappeared?”

“Good plan. Let’s drum up a list of hospitals in the city, and I know there’s dozens of them, and split it up amongst us. I want to get through that list in an hour, max.”

“I’ll start making the list,” Dani tells them and heads for her desk. 

Edrisa looks to the two men. “Anything I can do?” 

“Stick around and make the calls with us?” JT suggests. “Splitting the work up amongst four would make it go quicker.” 

Edrisa nods. “Anything to get Bright back,” she says quietly. She sees Gil flinch out of the corner of her eye, and she knows best not to say anything while in front of JT. She can’t imagine how he feels, how they all only  _ just  _ got Malcolm back and now he’s been taken. Again. By the same man. And although there was nothing he could do about it, it was under Gil’s watch. She doesn’t blame him, because how could he have anticipated Watkins breaking into Malcolm’s loft and spiking  _ everything? _

“You need anything, boss?” she asks him gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. It seems to bring him back to focus, the older man having no doubt drifted off into that horrible headspace again as soon as nobody was talking directly to him.

He gives her a sad smile. “I’m fine, Edrisa.” Clearly a lie, but she won’t call him on it. And he’s learning his lies from the best, it seems. “Thank you.” 

“Sure,” she answers, smiling brightly back at him. She heads out the door to Dani’s desk to wait for her portion of the list. 

“Boss?” JT walks over to him once they’re the only two left, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s not on you, you know.” 

“What?”

“Bright being taken. It’s not on you. Everyone here will tell you that.” But they didn’t, so that left JT to do it. 

“JT, he was with  _ me.  _ He was  _ my _ responsi-“

“Stop. That’s not going to help anyone, putting the blame on yourself. If you get caught up in guilt, you’re not going to help anyone, especially Bright. So just...push that shit aside and deal with it later. We need you at your best. Bright needs you.” Only JT could get away with talking to their boss like this. 

Gil frowns and rubs his face with both hands. “You’re right,” he eventually grumbles. Of course, he still feels guilt and always will, but he doesn’t want to argue with JT. Not now. 

“Let’s get to work, yeah?” JT suggests, holding open the door for him now. “Bright’s scrawny ass isn’t gonna save itself.” A pause. “Well...he did last time. But 2 for 2? No way. He’s as lucky as a broken mirror. The kid trips over air.” This earns a small laugh from Gil. 

“You’re right,” he says for the second time as he heads out the door. “Let’s go get him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I've been trying to post a new chapter every Monday, but this past week was just completely mind-numbing, both at work for me and just the world in general, you know? Like, couldn't bring myself to write anything at all. 
> 
> Hope you like the new setting! I wanted to do something spooky (I'm just a big horror fan!) and thought...orphanage? More with John's background will be explained next haha. I came across this place in New York called Letchworth Village and thought it was a perfect setting (they go there on an episode of Ghost Adventures if you're interested!), but I didn't want to do a real place, so I changed it into a boy's home. Hopefully I can drum up a spooky atmosphere for our poor boy cuz why not? I'm probably jumping the shark but like let's throw some ghosts or shit in here lol


	8. Chapter 8

Malcolm’s sense of unease grows with every step they take through the remains of the old boy’s home. Walking barefoot isn’t great either, his feet catching a random pebble here and there and making him wince. He wishes John had been decent enough to grab his shoes for him before taking him-

Wait. 

“What did you do to Gil?” Malcolm asks the man behind him, turning his head back to look at him.

Watkins smiles. “He’s fine. I could have taken him with, but figured that would be too much to deal with. Hard enough getting you in that trunk and down the stairs. Why couldn’t you live on the ground floor?” A pause. “Oh right. You’re rich. You don’t do that sort of thing.” Watkins points over to the main building of the campus, an old white stone building covered in weeds and graffiti. “That’s where we used to live,” he says, changing the topic with ease.

“Why not kill Gil? You clearly had the drop on us,” Malcolm presses for some unknown reason, as if he doesn’t believe him when he says Gil is fine. He stops walking and faces John fully now.

“Wasn’t feeling it,” John tells him with a shrug of his shoulders. He points over to an area next to the dormitory. “That’s where we would garden. Spent hours out there,” he explains, changing the subject again on a whim. 

“That’s  _ all?! _ ” Malcolm asks in disbelief. He wasn’t  _ feeling _ it? That’s the only reason Gil is alive? If John is telling the truth, that is...God he hopes he is. 

“Over there is where we were allowed to play,” John continues, ignoring him as he walks ahead of Malcolm now. “Nothing much. Maybe got to kick a ball around if we were lucky,” John points over to a cleared out field that’s now overgrown with weeds. “And over there is the church. Wow, it’s hardly changed a bit!”

Malcolm looks at the dilapidated building in disgust, with it’s broken windows, rotting wood, and the cross at the top of the steeple looking like it’s barely hanging on. A strong gust of wind would probably take it out.

“Oh it’s beautiful,” Malcolm tells him bitterly, his words dripping with sarcasm. 

“Why did you say it like that?” Watkins snaps, looking back at Malcolm with a scowl. _ Uh oh. _ “Why would you say that? It is a house of God. Don’t you  _ dare _ disrespect His house. It’s-“

“John, I didn’t mean-“

“Stop interrupting and just  _ listen _ .”

Stupidly, he continues. “John, I’m sorry-“

In a flash, Watkins turns and punches Malcolm hard in the stomach, nearly hitting his stab wound. With no way to defend himself with his hands tied, he takes the full force of it and cries out in pain, stumbling back to the ground. He lands on his broken hand and the world flashes white. 

“I told you to listen!” he can hear Watkins yell at him, but for now, laying on the ground, he doesn’t see him. “You interrupt! All the time! That’s what you’re doing here, that’s what you did at the cabin, and that’s what you did at your house!” John continues to yell, his voice echoing across the desolate campus. “If you had just let me kill your mother and sister, I wouldn’t have to do this!” 

“Why  _ are _ you doing this, John? What difference does it make that I see this place?” Malcolm wheezes out, catching his breath and finally regaining his sight. He gets off his hand as best he can, but the movement pulls at his stitches and causes him more pain. Damn, did he get hurt in two of the most inconvenient places possible. “I don’t want to see this place. I don’t  _ care _ if you lived here, if this was part of your origin story or some shit.” Fuck being nice. He’s angry. “I was supposed to just let you kill my family for the sake of these ‘trials’? Who would do that? Who?” Malcolm struggles to his feet, but eventually he makes it, glaring at John. His hair is a mess and he can’t get it out of his eyes, but he can still see the man well enough. “Would you? If I had a gun to your grandmother’s head, would you let me pull the trigger?” 

John narrows his eyes. “If it was part of God’s plan-“

“Oh don’t you  _ DARE _ with that! That’s just what people say when they have no clue what to do and don’t want to take responsibility for their lack of action!” Malcolm snaps at him. 

John doesn’t answer him, and that’s probably the worst thing right now. There’s just a dead silence in the air between them, the only noise coming from the lone swing near the garden blowing in the breeze, it’s rusty chains creaking back and forth. Malcolm’s head is swirling from the pain, but he stays on his feet, trying to show he isn’t afraid of the man in front of him. It’s a lie, obviously, but he’s trying.

“Keep walking, Malcolm,” John finally speaks, pointing to the church as his next words catch Malcolm completely off guard. “Your guest is waiting.”

-x-

“I got it!” JT exclaims into the open air of the office as he hangs up his phone. It was his thirteenth call on the list, but dammit, he got it! He looks up and sees Dani, Gil, and Edrisa’s heads popping up over the cubicles, looking like meerkats in the Serengeti. “I can’t believe I didn’t call them first, but the damn hospital Bright was  _ at  _ just checked their inventory of midazolam and it’s wiped out!”

The other three head over closer to him, hanging up the calls they were on.

“And?” Gil asks, desperate for more news.

“I spoke with their security guy, and when I described Watkins to him, he said he matches the ‘doctor’,” JT uses air quotes on the word. “-who went into the storage area two days ago, which is when they think it disappeared.” 

“What some shit security that guy is,” Dani mumbles. A  _ ding _ ! catches them by surprise, but it’s just JT’s phone, who checks it before showing it to the rest of them. “Yeah, it’s him,” he says, showing a photo taken off the screen from the security officer. It clearly shows John Watkins wearing a white coat and swiping no doubt a stolen key card to get in and out of the room. 

“When was this?” Gil asks, glaring at the photo before JT sets his phone down. 

“Two days ago,” JT repeats. He knows Gil is doing his best to focus, but he also knows this has got to be hard on him. “At 8:18am, according to the timestamp.” 

“So well before he made the call to Bright,” Dani reminds them. “That was around noon.”

“So he breaks into the storage in the morning, steals the drugs, goes back to his hotel room and makes the call, watching us in the conference room and waiting til Bright is-” Gil doesn’t want to say  _ vulnerable _ , but if he had a clear view of Bright’s freak out from before, then he knew the right time to call.

“Then while you’re in the hospital with Bright, he takes the opportunity to douse everything he can in his house,” Edrisa adds quietly, looking down at the phone and the lingering image of Watkins. “And then he waits.” 

“Boss...did you...did you do a sweep of his apartment when you brought him back?” JT has to ask as gently as he can.

“I…” Gil strokes his goatee, thinking. He got the kid inside. He set him down in the bed, took his shoes off, tucked him in. Got him the snack and talked with him a bit, then got him to sleep. Then he checked that the doors and windows were locked before he sat down on the couch, completely exhausted from the day, no, the  _ week _ they’ve had. “No. No, I didn’t.”

He didn’t do the  _ one  _ thing he needed to do, which was actually  _ sweep  _ the damn apartment. Watkins could have been hiding in the coat closet, in the pantry, hell under the kid’s  _ bed  _ like the goddamn Boogeyman he is, but he didn’t look. He locked them  _ in  _ with the monster because all he wanted to do was just give his Malcolm some rest. He let his parental instincts overtake his detective ones, and that may have just cost his son his life. 

Another  _ ding!  _ from JT’s phone brings Gil back to the present. 

“The security guard said that the keycard he used belonged to a Dr. Kieran Amell,” JT reads. “Who just so happens didn’t show up for work today.” 

“That was Malcolm’s doctor. He treated him  _ yesterday _ ,” Gil remembers. 

“That can’t be a coincidence then!” Edrisa exclaims. It’s a clue!

“We need to track his phone,” Gil nods in agreement. 

“On it,” Dani says, getting up and heading back to her desk. 

When they find this doctor, they’ll get one step closer to finding Malcolm. And when they do, Gil isn’t letting him out of his sight until Watkins is either locked up in Rikers or, what he would prefer,  _ dead. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams hand on table* More angry Malcolm! More guilt for Gil! More teamwork making the dream work! Hope ya'll enjoyed the short update, I'm having so much fun writing this! Now I just need to figure out how the hell I'm gonna end it haha maybe with angst? With fluff? With fluffy angst (most likely)? Cuz again I'm making this shit up on the fly because who needs proper planning?!


	9. Chapter 9

“My guest? What do you mean my guest?” Malcolm asks as panic rises in him, not taking another step forward.

“I mean I brought you a gift. Someone who is going to help you become who you were meant to be. Now  _ walk.”  _ John points to the doors of the church which are barely hanging on.

“No-” Malcolm starts defiantly, but before he can even plant his feet, John grabs a fistful of his hair and begins to drag him. 

“ _ I SAID WALK!” _

Malcolm lets out a yelp of both surprise and pain as his feet move before he can, heading up the path to the church and to the steps. Here, thankfully, John lets go of him and just pushes him up the steps rather than drags him up them. 

“Everything that is hidden will be shown, and everything that is secret will be made known,” John tells the dusty air as they walk inside, Malcolm recognizing the passage from Luke. He doesn’t get the chance to try and analyze what he meant before he’s met by a terrible sight.

At the altar is a man on his knees, head covered in a bag, arms tied above his head, and unmoving. Malcolm can see that his arms, held up high by rope, are tied up through the rafters, the man seemingly resembling Jesus’ crucifixion. The button-down shirt he’s wearing, which looks like it used to be green, is now covered in dirt and blood.   
“Who...who is that…?” Malcolm dares to ask, swallowing hard as John pushes him up the main aisle, passing the rotten wood of the pews on each side of them. 

“He’s going to help you, Malcolm. He’s going to help bring to light what you tried to hide all these years. What you  _ denied _ about yourself,” John tells him as they continue to walk. He sits Malcolm down in the front pew while John goes up to the man, who still hasn’t moved, and removes the bag from his head. 

“Dr. Amell?” 

Malcolm’s heart sinks at the sight of the black-haired man, his eyes closed and his mouth covered in duct tape. Not that it needs to be right now, given how he hasn’t so much as stirred at their arrival.

“How long has he been here? Take him down!” Malcolm demands, knowing full well he’s in no position to. He stands up, but John forces him back down to the seat by his shoulders, causing Malcolm to wince at the pain in his side. 

“Not long. A day?” John answers him nonchalantly, moving up to the doctor and taking him by the chin and lifting his head up. Only now is there a sign of life in him. “I snagged him up pretty much the moment they discharged you.”

“An entire  _ day _ you left him like this?” Malcolm can’t imagine what the poor man’s circulation is like. Can he even move his fingers? “Jesus Christ, John, he needs-”   
Malcolm is cut off by a sudden slap across the face.    
“He needs you to not take the Lord’s name in vain, Malcolm,” John tells him with a glare before turning his attention back to the doctor. “He’s going to help. He’ll be the necessary sacrifice to save you.” John’s glare turns to a smile as he pats the doctor’s cheek, the man rousing further. Soon, brilliant green eyes open and begin to focus, and with the focus comes the pain. The man begins to squirm and yell against the duct tape.

“Please, John, you can hurt me all you want, but let him go,” Malcolm pleads with him, daring to stand once more and even move  _ towards  _ John. 

“There he is with that hero complex again,” John sighs at the doctor, who tries to fight against the ropes, but he’s no doubt lost feeling in his hands from being suspended like this for so long. 

Malcolm begins to work through a timeline in his head while John is distracted. He was discharged yesterday afternoon, and Gil took him home. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep at home, and the sun had set. Sunset is at like 5pm though...so that isn’t very helpful. 

_ Oh. _

It’s only now that Malcolm realizes how cold he is, how he can see his breath and feel the cold ache in his bones. He’s wearing no coat, only his pajama pants and shirt, and still barefoot. A shiver runs through him.

_ Ignore it. Continue to think. _

He remembers seeing the clock when he woke up in the middle of the night say 8:32pm, only remembering it because of the passage that John had left in the hotel room. Then he remembers seeing the figure in his living room, standing behind a sleeping Gil, thinking it was The Girl in the Box coming back to haunt him but...no. No it was Watkins. It was Watkins standing there, smiling,  _ waiting  _ for him. 

He doesn’t remember much after that.

Malcolm is jerked back into reality by John’s hands on his shoulders, his face now inches from his. 

“Don’t go spacing out on me, little Malcolm,” the man tells him, hot breath hitting Malcolm in the face to the point he turns away. But John just grabs him by the chin and forces him to look at him. “I need you to focus or this will all be for nothing. The doctor is going to die anyway, so don’t you want it to mean something?” Malcolm can hear the man scream against the duct tape, his eyes wide with panic as he tries to fight, but he can do nothing. 

“I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you want out of this,” Malcolm tells him defiantly, staring at Watkins now. “I told you before. I’m not my father’s son. I’m not him. I’m my own man and I will  _ not _ be forced into-”

“Except you’re not, Malcolm! You’re not your own man,” John interrupts him with a smile. “You fought so hard to undo everything your father did. Hell, look at your career choice, kid. You’ve done everything you can to  _ spite  _ your father, which shows that he still has the same hold over you he did as a child. He will always be a part of you, whether it’s you fighting it or accepting it. And I’m here to make you finally accept it.” John stands up and sets his bag down on the pew across the aisle from Malcolm before pulling out his knife. “I know this is going to take some time, but don’t worry,” he tells the two men with a smile. “We have plenty of it.”

\---

Gil paces the floor of his office, doing his best to think on what to do. JT and Dani are busy trying to track the Doctor’s phone, and Edrisa was called away for a new autopsy. What is he supposed to do? They have no other leads other than this doctor. Malcolm could be anywhere, with Watkins doing God knows what to him. He sends a prayer up above to Jackie.  _ Help me find our boy. _

“Boss! We got something!” Dani calls out to him, not even bothering to knock on the door first before practically kicking it open. “His phone last pinged heading north out of the city on 87, near the village of Ardsley. But we haven’t had anything new since yesterday, so we think his phone is dead.” 

“So he could be anywhere, then?” Gil asks her, doing his best to not sound disappointed. Sure they have a direction but…

“But it pinged going up that way  _ before  _ Malcolm was taken,” JT tells him. “Which means he didn’t go too far because he needed time to come back and take Malcolm. Seriously, the dude isn’t the best on logistics, boss. Take him out of his element of just smushing people in cars and-” Dani shoots him a glare and he stops. 

“So most likely, he’s keeping them somewhere near this village,” Gil asks, and Dani nods. “Were we able to find anything on CCTV? Any footage of his car?” 

“I’ve been having my guy in the hospital’s security help, and he helped narrow it down to a few cars. We should hire this dude when this is over,” JT says before showing them his phone. “He said these cars all came and went pretty quickly, which is off because if you’re at the hospital, it’s not usually a quick stay.”   
“Unless you’re Malcolm Bright,” Dani says with a soft smile, which earns one from Gil.

“Right. So these cars-” He swipes through them and shows them captured pictures of a blue pickup truck, a white four-door sedan, and a red four-door sedan. “-are the ones he thought were interesting. With the way the cameras are set up in the parking garage, which he made sure to tell me he had no part in setting up because they’re awful, we could pretty much eliminate the white sedan with the little old lady driving it, but the other two are still a question.”   
“The truck doesn’t seem likely at all, because of the openness of the bed. What if someone looked in and saw a body in there while he’s stuck in traffic?” Gil says, and they nod in agreement. “So that leaves the red sedan, which I bet he picked for the big trunk.” He swallows, knowing Malcolm was soon going to be in that trunk. “Let’s start trying to get CCTV together as it leaves the parking garage and follow it, okay? Maybe a license plate number?”

“Yes, boss.”

The team disembarks again, leaving Gil alone in his office.

_ We’re getting closer, Malcolm. Just hang on. Please. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll. Sorry this is coming out like...a month since the last chapter. I honestly didn't mean to keep pushing it off and off. Things got crazy at work going back to my full hours (I started writing this when I was on reduced hours) and I've just been drained ever since, you know? Hopefully this isn't too disappointing a chapter for the wait time lol and I'm gonna try to get back on track of posting once a week. Thank you again to everyone reading this and leaving comments and kudos. I love ya'll and hope you're staying safe and healthy in this crazy world!


	10. Chapter 10

No. There’s now _way_ he’s going to kill this man. He’s not going to do it. There’s nothing John can say or do to him that will make him-

“Malcolm! I said focus!” John yells at him, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “I told you-”

“And I’m telling _you_ , John!” Malcolm snarls back at him, once more standing up from where John sat him down in the front pew. “I’m not killing him! You can’t make me, so you might as well kill _me._ Let him go, but kill me. I don’t care at this point. I don’t. Just let him go. He doesn’t deserve this.” A lightbulb goes off in his tired mind. “Not like those junkies did, anyhow,” he tells him, his tone cooling off. 

John tilts his head, touching the tip of the knife to his own forehead as he turns away from the doctor. “What’s that?” 

“You heard me. The junkies. The ones that made you The Junkyard Killer. _They_ deserved to die.” _Careful now, don’t give him too much._ “They were sinners after all,” he adds, testing the waters.

“Didn’t take your family as the religious type. I thought I would have to beat that into you,” John smiles, and Malcolm has to bite his tongue from saying “like your grandmother?”

“My parents didn’t raise us religious, no, but…” He swallows hard. “Gil...he and his wife were. I...I recognized the passage you left for me...in the hotel?”

“You saw my note? I’m touched,” John smiles, the knife still up by his head. Maybe if he weren’t so weak, Malcolm could slam it into him...but he knows if he tried to get up too quick his side would start bleeding again. He can’t risk it. _Be smart._

“I-I would never say anything about it to the other detectives, but what you did...you were helping clean up the streets.” _Don’t overdo it._

“Really? You think so?” John smiles at Malcolm and moves down the steps to meet him, the knife now swinging at his side. 

Malcolm nods slowly, eyes trained on the knife. “Those addicts were nothing but a...a nuisance,” he tells him as convincingly as he can. “They made our job harder. Unreliable witnesses...panhandling...and all that.” He shifts his weight from side to side, trying to stay warm. His eyes flicker over to the doctor, unable to stop himself. He can see the fear in the man’s eyes, how blown out with fear his pupils are and how there’s a pulsing vein rapidly beating on his temple. He looks back at John. 

“So what are you saying, Malcolm, other than trying to placate me?” John frowns, holding the knife up to Malcolm’s throat suddenly. _Well that didn’t work._

“I’m saying...if I’m going to kill...I want it to mean something.” _Stall. Just stall. Stall as long as you can. For God’s sake Gil, where are you?!_ “So I don’t want to kill _him_ ...because he isn’t a sinner. He helps people. He’s a doctor. He’s _good_.”

“You don’t know him,” John counters, eyes narrowed and the knife unwavering. 

“And neither do you,” Malcolm tells him. “I know enough about him to know he’s not like the ones you killed. And if it is my...my _destiny_ ...to kill…” He nearly chokes on the word. “I want some semblance of choice in it. I want it to be like you and serve a...higher purpose.” _Oh God is this working? Is this angle working on him?_ Malcolm studies every inch of the man’s face, but nothing is given away as he seemingly contemplates his answer. _Please...please don’t make me kill this man. Just give me more time...give_ Gil _more time…_

“So...let’s say... I found you someone that was more...deserving of death...you _would_ kill them?” John asks with a raised brow, the knife withdrawn from Malcolm’s neck. 

“Yes.” He forces himself to say the word, and it makes him feel sick. “I don’t want to kill randomly like my father. I...I want their deaths to...make a difference. To rid us-”  
“Of sin,” John finishes for him, and once more, Malcolm forces himself to play along and nod. “Yes.”   
“Hmmm…” John ponders his proposal, taking a step back and looking over at the doctor, whose breathing has slowed as he regains composure. 

“You can teach me...John,” Malcolm throws at him, trying to get the monster’s focus back on him and not the doctor. “My father tried to, but I was too young. I didn’t understand. But...but I can understand now. I-I can be taught.” _Please._

That seems to have done the trick with John, a smile on his face once again. “See Malcolm? Just being in His house has made you see clearer,” John tells him, raising his knife-wielding hand towards the sky, the light shining through the broken stained glass onto him. In an instant, before Malcolm can even scream at him to stop, John has swiped the knife down across Doctor Amell’s throat, blood splattering across the bema. “We don’t really need him now, do we?” 

\---

Dani scrolls through footage after footage, trying to follow the red sedan out of the city. She’s been able to follow it a few miles now, but the CCTV is complete _shit_ and she can never get a license plate shot or see who’s driving. She can only keep following it and try to catch a glimpse.

“Anything?” JT asks from over his cubicle wall. 

“Not really. Just been following the sedan for...three miles. Not out of the city yet. And no plate or shot of the driver,” she answers him, frustrated. 

“‘K. Just keep at it. You’re...doing a good job, you know,” JT tells her, which she immediately raises a brow at. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs. “Must be bad if you’re trying to reassure me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that-”  
“It’s okay, JT. I appreciate it.”

“Tell me if you need anything, ‘k?”

“I will.”

“Alright.”

That right there is why she appreciates having that man watching her back. He keeps it simple and knows when she doesn’t want to talk further. 

Bright, on the other hand, doesn’t know when to stop talking sometimes. She smiles at the memory of when he was higher than a kite, rattling on a mile a minute about the wildest of things. Sure, that was because of drugs, but get him on a subject that interests him any other day and he doesn’t know when to quit. It’s endearing, really, seeing how passionate he would become. Maybe...wherever Watkins has taken him...that inability to stop talking is keeping him alive. 

“It’s him!” she finds herself saying aloud. Part of her brain was focused on Bright, while thankfully the other was still watching the footage. And sure enough. 

“When he turned onto Park Ave the cameras got him. That’s Watkins alright,” she says, turning her monitor towards JT. 

“Damn right it is. And it got the plate too!” JT exclaims, pointing at the screen. “I’ll run it right now. It’ll come up stolen, no doubt. But at least we can put an ABP out for it. Maybe find out if it has lo-jack or something.”

“I’ll tell Boss,” she says, getting up from her desk. Finally, they have something concrete! She heads to Gil’s office and hears him talking on the other side. When she looks through the half-closed blinds, she sees him behind his desk, head propped up by a hand on his forehead, his phone against his ear. 

_“I’m sorry, Ains. Please...try and tell your mother we’re doing everything we can.”_ A pause. _“I know she’ll say we’re full of shit. We have a lead, if that makes any difference to her.”_ Another pause. _“I will, hun. Take care. We’ll find him. I promise.”_

He puts the phone down, and Dani can see the temptation in him to reach for the scotch in his desk drawer. But he doesn’t, and instead he runs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. When was the last time he slept? Since he was drugged? That’s not really-

“Powell. I can see you.” _Caught._

Dani opens the door and gives an awkward smile. “The red sedan. That was the one, Boss, like you said. We’ve got a plate and JT is running it now.”

Gil visibly perks up at this. “Let’s go see what he finds out, then.” He needs to get up. He needs to get out of this office and do _something_. 

Dani nods and holds the door open for the older man. She can see the weight he carries on his shoulders and she just wants to...well...she’s not _really_ a hugger...but for Gil? She’d hug him like his favorite sweater if it meant she could take some of the stress from him. 

They have to get to Malcolm not only for his sake, she realizes, but for Gil’s as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll are enjoying the story still! It'll be coming to an end in the next few chapters or so so I gotta figure out how I'm wrapping this up as happy? sad? angst (duh)?. We'll see! I've really been loving writing this and can't wait to figure out a new story featuring our dear Whump King (✿◠‿◠)


	11. Chapter 11

It felt like months had passed since the knife was brought down on the doctor’s throat, but it was only a few moments.

At some point, Malcolm had fallen out of the pew and was scrambling to assist the doctor, to reach out and stop the crimson flow spilling out around him. He watched as the man’s brilliant green eyes went from wide with terror, to half-sliding shut, to lifeless. 

It took maybe a minute for him to be gone. 

Now, Malcolm is laid out on the floor, blood soaking his hands, his cast, his arms, his chest as he fell and slipped in the pool, and-

_ Jesus, it’s everywhere. _

“Oof, what a mess. Should have done  _ that  _ outside.” Watkin’s voice reaches him through the new, deeper haze his mind is in. All he can do is look in those dead eyes of the man who helped him, who was so kind to him. It was a brief encounter, but it ended with the man dead.

“I’m cursed,” escapes from between Malcolm’s trembling lips as he stares, laying on his side, the same side cut open by the man towering over him. He doesn’t even feel the pain in it growing, how he most definitely tore open more stitches from the desperate move to save the doctor. There’s so much blood on him he’ll never know whose is whose.

“What was that?” Watkins asks, giving Malcolm a little nudge with his dirt-coated boot.

“I’m cursed,” Malcolm repeats, his voice numb. 

“Why’s that?”

He doesn’t answer this time, being unable to find the strength to do so. 

“Malcolm?” 

He just shakes his head. 

“It’s going to be okay, you know.”  _ What? _ “Doing this gets easier. You just have to practice. Practice makes perfect, right?” Watkins bends down and cups Malcolm’s chin in one hand, the bloody knife in the other, and gently moves his gaze up at him. Watkins smiles. “You’ll get the hang of it, kid. I said that you’re my mission, and I intend to help anyway I can.”

Malcolm can’t smile back, not that he would, but he’s simply unable to. There’s not an ounce of energy in him left, which Watkins seems to pick up on. 

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll go find you that  _ true _ sinner you wanted.” Before he knows what’s happening, Malcolm is hoisted onto his feet, which would have slipped right out from under him on the pool of blood had Watkins not caught him. “Come on. That’s it.” 

The strangely supportive words go in one ear and out the other, the fog in his mind keeping him from registering it any further. The two make their way out of the church and back into the daylight, which truly illuminates the amount of blood covering his skin and clothes. Not that he notices, but Watkins does. 

“You really are a mess, you know,” Watkins teases with a laugh, but Malcolm remains silent, staring at the ground. It just happens to be how his head droops, John supporting him almost entirely with his arm thrown around the older man’s shoulder. 

“Hmpf,” he grumbles after getting no response. He practically drags Malcolm towards the main building’s steps, gets him up them, and is able to kick one door open. A cloud of dust and splinters hits them, only adding to the mess that is Malcolm Bright. 

“There should be a couch in the Headmaster’s office still,” Watkins tells the man slumped against him, who again gives no response. “Malcolm, I don’t want the silent treatment out of you when I come back, but it’s okay for now.”

Silence answers him once more as they trudge down the old halls, the paint peeling and plaster crumbling around them. It stinks of must and decay, and the halls are littered with trash and busted furniture. Graffiti surrounds them, no doubt when kids still dared to come to the building. Now...it’s been forgotten, left alone to rot. 

_ Like the doctor’s body will be. Because nobody will find him...or you...out here. _

Malcolm comes back to some semblance of consciousness while staring at the ceiling. He’s on the couch that Watkins mentioned, moth-eaten and filthy, but softer than the chipped tile floor underneath it. 

“-shouldn’t take me longer than a few hours to find someone for you, Malcolm. Then we can truly start.”

A groan finally answers Watkins back.

“Oh! There you are. Finally. You catch any of that?” Watkins is crouched at Malcolm’s side, and he yanks his hand back, a needle and thread in it. A moment later does the pain hit Malcolm as he realizes the man is stitching him up. The scream of pain catches in his throat as black dots cloud his vision. 

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be quick, I promise,” he can barely hear the other man say as his footsteps retreat to the door. It closes and a lock is turned, throwing the room into darkness.

Malcolm is alone, and somehow, it’s worse than being with Watkins.

—-

Footage of the sedan continues to lead them northeast out of the city, Gil driving like a bat out of hell following Edrisa’s directions. Dani sits beside him on the phone, having gotten ahold of the village constable of Ardsley and filling him in on the case. 

JT is driving an SUV behind them, following close as they wait for Edrisa’s next update on where to go. Scanning CCTV for a single red sedan is incredibly time consuming, but at least they’ll be close when the next update comes in, right?

“Thank you, sir. We’ll keep each other updated, yeah?”

After a pause, she hangs up the phone. “Alright, Constable Newton is up to date. Still nothing from Edrisa and the team.” She stares out the window to her right, watching the trees whip by them. She doesn’t want to look over at Gil, already knowing what she’ll see. A white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. His sunglasses hiding the bags under his eyes. A disheveled shirt. Hell, maybe she should have drove, but this is his car after all. “We should hear something soon, though,” she adds after Gil says nothing. She earns a small grunt in response. 

“You know...there is one person we could ask…” 

_ “No.” _

“You don’t even-“

“Yes I do. Dani-“

“But Boss-“

“Dani-“

“Gil! We need his help!” 

The two sit in an awkward silence once again before Dani speaks up.

“We could ask Dr. Whitly about John’s past. They knew each other well, right? He was his little protégé when he couldn’t have Malcolm, right? When he was still too young?” She hasn’t heard this story directly from Malcolm, but she’s been able to piece this part of his history together with Gil. 

“We already asked Martin about him and he…” Gil starts, remembering how manic Martin became. “If I tell him I lost Malcolm for a second time…” 

“He’ll just have to get his shit together and help us. He has to if he ever wants to see Malcolm again,” Dani interjects. “It’s worth a shot, right Boss?”

Reluctantly, Gil agrees. “I suppose. Can you call Claremont? Put it on speaker?”

“Sure thing.”

She dials the number and is soon put through to Martin’s cell, Mr. David leaving the room. 

“Malcolm! Is that you my boy?” comes the eerily chipper voice on the other end. “How are you doing? I heard about your hand. That’s some nasty-“

“Martin, it’s Gil Arroyo.”

“Oh.” The chipperness is immediately gone. “Why are you calling me, Detective?”

“It’s about Malcolm.”

“What about him? Is he-“

“He’s been taken...again. By John Watkins.” Saying that word,  _ again, _ just about kills Gil. 

“ _ WHAT?!” _ comes an enraged voice on the other end, causing Gil to flinch. 

“It’s happened and we’re doing everything we-“

_ “HOW?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN TO MY BOY? HOW DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!” _

Dani sees Gil’s grip on the steering wheel grow even tighter.

“It doesn’t matter how it happened, but that it did,” she interjects in a firm tone. “We need your help. Watkins. Lazar. Whatever you want to call him. We’re following a lead that’s led us out of the city, northeast, on 87. Do you have any idea as to why he would be going that direction? Why he wouldn’t keep Malcolm somewhere in the city?”

After some angry huffs on the other end, Martin seems to have calmed down, as much as a psychotic serial killer can. 

“Of course he was taken again under your watch, Arroyo,” comes a bitter growl out of Martin before he focuses again. “Somewhere out north...no. I can’t really...unless…” They can practically hear the gears turning over the phone. “The only thing I can think of is he mentioned some boy’s home he grew up in. His mother abandoned him I believe. Sad little story there.” He tuts twice. “He was sent there until his grandmother tracked him down and took him. He told me once he wished he had stayed at the boy’s home rather than go with his grandparents.”

Dani turns to Gil with wide, hopeful eyes.  _ See? _ she wants to mouth to him, but she stops herself. Now is not the time to rub it in. 

“Can you remember the name of it by chance?” Gil asks him.

“I don’t, no. I can’t believe I remembered the other bit, to be honest. The brain is an amazing little-“

“Thank you, Dr. Whitly. We’ll be in touch,” Gil answers with a look over to Dani. 

“I want to know the minute you find-!”

_ Click. _

“You were right,” Gil tells Dani, hope returning to him. “Let Edrisa and JT know. Tell her to find any boy’s homes or orphanages in a hundred-mile radius and if there was a record of a Lazar or Watkins there. If he was fond of the place, more fond of it than his grandparent’s house…”

“Then he’ll want to take Bright there. So it’s probably an abandoned one...secluded,” Dani finishes for him as she’s already dialing Edrisa’s number. If this actually leads them somewhere...if they find Malcolm because of The Surgeon’s help...

“I’m on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for seemingly abandoning this fic. These last few months have been pretty crazy. Moved back in with the parents for a bit while I bought a house (which took months longer than I thought, but hey, I finally was able to get one!) Also been dealing with other personal issues but I'm feeling better and these last few episodes have really made me want to write again. So here we are! Hopefully you enjoy it and thanks for reading! :)


	12. Chapter 12

_ Malcolm, why do we keep meeting like this? _

One bleary eye cracks open, and though his head feels like it’s weighed down by rocks, he turns to the side the familiar voice comes from. 

“Gabrielle?” he manages to croak out, a brow raised in confusion. He starts to ask for his therapist to help him, until he realizes. “Oh, you’re not real. That’s right.” A small laugh escapes his cracked lips as his gaze moves back to the ceiling. 

_ I’m real enough, Malcolm. And just like last time, I come to you when you’re dying.  _

Malcolm laughs again, weak and joyless. “And how did that turn out?” He raises his broken hand, the blood soaked cast waved at the hallucination.

_ That wasn’t me. That was your father. _

“Oh...right.”

_ And you’re still alive, aren’t you? _

“For now.”

_ You sound like you don’t want to do anything about it. _

“And what if I don’t?” 

_ The fact that you see me now means you do. _

Malcolm turns his head back to the hallucination, who is giving him a reassuring smile, the same one he’s seen from her for decades. 

_ You’re going to have to get moving here, kiddo. _

“Why?”

_ Because you won’t want to be here when Watkins comes back. _

Malcolm blinks and looks around the Headmaster’s office, having only just remembered he was alone. Well, Gabrielle is here, but that doesn’t really count. The room, which is about the size of their conference room back at the precinct, is coated in dust. There’s a few windows along one wall, the glass broken out in all of them, but also heavy metal bars across them as well. The sun is setting now, taking with it any warmth it gave in this harsh New York winter. How long has he been here?

_ The windows won’t work. Find the door. _

Lifting his head, Malcolm spots the door, then remembers the noise of the lock turning as Watkins left. 

_ It’s an old door,  _ Gabrielle cuts in through his doubt.  _ You might be able to break it down. Everything else in this place is falling down, after all. _

Malcolm goes to move, to just swing his legs over and place his feet on the ground, when he stops. A harsh exhale of pain sends a plume of steam from his mouth, his side aching horribly. The rest of his body feels numb from the cold that sweeps in through the broken windows, but his side? It feels like it's on fire. 

_ Oh...right.  _

Malcolm clutches at his side with his good hand, close to hyperventilating from the pain, but Gabrielle walks him through his breathing exercises.

_ In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s it. 1...2...3… _

“I can’t...move…” Malcolm tells her through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut from the pain. 

_ You’re going to have to, Malcolm. _

He shakes his head in protest. “It hurts so much…”

_ Come on, my boy! This is almost pitiful! _

His eyes shoot open and turn to look at Gabrielle, but the voice has come from someone else. It’s his father. 

_ “No!”  _ Malcolm scrambles back into the couch, but it only goes so far. “You do  _ not _ get to be here now!”

_ Malcolm, my boy, take a breath.  _ Martin doesn’t appear in the red sweater like the last time, but instead his white prison uniform, the color standing out starkly in contrast with the darkening room. 

Malcolm shakes his head again and shuts his eyes, quickly humming a song to drown his father out. 

_ Malcolm, you’re acting very childish! I’m just trying to help! _

“Your help is what got me here in the first place!” Malcolm yells across the empty room. He sits up and glares at his father, his fury helping him ignore the pain. “You trying to help me be like you? That’s what brought Watkins into your life. Into  _ my  _ life. Why couldn’t you have just taken me to a fucking baseball game or something? Like a real dad? Not to a murder practice party in the woods?!” His glare softens as the situation sinks in. “This is all your fault. I’m going to die here in the woods with a psycho because I can’t even get off a couch,” he adds softly. 

_ Malcolm. _

“What?”

_ Look at me. _

Reluctantly, Malcolm’s gaze finds his father’s. And it’s-

_ You’re standing. _

-at eye level. 

_ My boy! I told you I was just trying to help,  _ Martin smiles at him.

Malcolm looks down, and sure enough, his feet are on the filthy tile floor. It’s freezing cold, sure, but he can feel it, at least. And he’s steady, as steady as he can be. 

_ Now what? _

“The door…” Malcolm starts, slowly making his way for the big wooden door. He tries the lock, just in case, and it doesn’t budge. Of course. 

_ Think you can knock it down? _

“No. I don’t think I could even if I wasn’t stabbed and had both hands,” Malcolm frowns, looking it over. Hell, maybe if he had JT with him…

JT.

Malcolm leans his forehead into the door and closes his eyes, thinking of the man. And Dani. And Gil. Are they close? Maybe they’re close to finding him. Maybe they’re only a few minutes out, and-

_ You can’t rely on them, my boy. Relying on them...relying on  _ Gil… _ that’s what got you in this mess the second time.  _

“Shut up!” Malcolm barks, turning suddenly to face his father. He regrets it as the pain in his side shoots back through him. “Don’t talk about them like that. About Gil. He-“

_ He let you get taken. _

“He…” Malcolm rubs his tired eyes, which only makes his face dirtier with how filthy his hands are. “No...that’s not fair. That’s not  _ fair.”  _

_ Then why are you here today, Malcolm? Because Gil failed you. He doesn’t truly care about you. Not like a father loves his son. Do you think, if I had been there, that- _

“But you WEREN’T THERE!” Malcolm retorts, bright eyes shooting open to look at Martin. “You weren’t there because you killed  _ TWENTY THREE PEOPLE!” _

_ Malcolm! You’re losing blood, your energy, and you’re losing focus,  _ Gabrielle’s voice cuts in, the older woman now appearing beside Martin, hands folded in front of her. 

“He-“

_ I know. But that’s not helping now, is it? _

A huff. “No.”

_ If you can’t break the door down, my boy, how about the hinges? Can you pop those nails out?  _ Martin asks, raising a handcuffed hand as high as he can to point. Malcolm follows where he points and sees the three hinges holding the door. That might just work…

_ Best to hurry, my boy. You don’t know when he’ll be back.  _

He doesn’t answer his father, but he knows Dr. Whitly is right. Well, no,  _ he _ is right, because he is the one imagining his father and therapist right now. 

“Gotta find something flat. A screwdriver. A coin. Something,” he mutters to himself, now beginning to shiver from the cold coming through the broken windows. Was this one of Watkins trials for him? To see if he won’t freeze to death? How much longer will it be til he comes back?

_ Don’t think about him. Just focus on getting out,  _ Dr. Le Deux tells him from the other side of the room. Malcolm trudges along to the Headmaster’s desk, which still has quite a few personal belongings on it. 

_ What happened here? To make them leave all this behind? _ Martin asks, and out of the corner of Malcolm’s eye he can see the hallucination wandering around the room. He turns his focus back to the desks, ignoring him.

_ You know it’s a hallucination. That’s good. You’re just not on your meds. You’re still aware he’s not really here,  _ he tells himself as he searches the desk drawers. How much longer until he can’t tell? Until his meds are completely out of his system?

“Ha!” he suddenly exclaims to the other two, producing a small flathead screwdriver from a kit. It looks like the Headmaster used to make model cars judging by the small Camaro on the desk, a hobby that may save Malcolm’s life. 

_ Grab something to hit it with _ , Gabrielle tells him, over his shoulder now.  _ The stapler should work. _

_ Or the bottom of that snowglobe?  _ Martin adds. 

Malcolm takes the stapler out of spite and heads back to the door, dragging a chair with him.

“Okay...I’ve got this. I’ve got this,” he tells himself quietly, looking the door over. Sitting down in the chair, still painful with the stitches in his side, old and new, he gets to work on the bottom hinge.

—-

The trio have stopped at a gas station and diner on their way north, needing to refuel the cars and, at Dani’s insistence, get some fuel in themselves. Edrisa’s path of following the CCTV footage of Watson’s car has taken them past the village of Ardsley, and now the trail has gone cold. 

“I’m still working on it, guys. We all are,” Edrisa’s normally perky voice, now sounding subdued, tells them on speakerphone from their corner booth in the diner. 

“We know, Edrisa. We’re ready for the next step when you got it,” JT assures her. 

“Those roads are so remote. We’re just having trouble getting any cameras to access,” she adds, sounding disappointed in herself. 

“It’s okay,” Gil adds. “How about the orphanage lead?”

“That…” They hear some shuffling of papers. “Is going...okay? I guess. There’s a lot more than we thought there would be. And it’s been difficult trying to get names out of them, being that they’re closed down. We have to track down  _ who _ has the names, and it’s usually a church. They haven’t been too forthcoming with names.”

“Just...do what you have to do. Send us some work if you need to and we can do it from here while we still have reception,” Dani tells her. 

“Thanks guys, I will.” A pause. “Wow, is this how every case is for you guys? This is exhausting. Give me a dead body any day!” Another pause before- “That sounded bad.”

“We know what you mean,” Gil smiles softly at the phone. She can’t see it, but she can hear it in his voice, at least. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

_ Click. _

Dani slinks back in the uncomfortable booth, one hand cupping her mug of hot coffee. It’s absolutely frigid outside, it being a miracle Gil didn’t hit a patch of black ice at the speed he was driving. 

Her mind is racing about Malcolm. Is he okay? Did Watkins hurt him even more? Is he somewhere warm, at least? Where’s that doctor? Because they can’t forget about him either. As much as they want Bright back, there’s another missing person here to worry about…

“Powell?”

Gil’s voice cuts in through her thoughts. 

“Yeah, Boss?”

“You good?”

“Are you?”

“...fair.”

Her eyes flick over to JT, who hasn’t said much.

“You?”

“Just thinking about what name Bright’s gonna guess JT stands for next once we find him,” he answers with a shrug before killing his coffee in one swig. 

Dani smiles at his subtle optimism. He’ll never admit how much Bright has grown on him. Three  _ dings!  _ from all of their phones causes the trio to scoop them up from the table. 

“Edrisa sent us some homework. Good,” Gil tells them as he reads over the list of orphanage names she hasn’t gotten to yet. He looks over at a waitress and gets her attention. The young woman walks over and smiles. “What else can I get you three?”

“More coffee and the Wi-Fi password, please. We’re going to be here for a bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Boy did this show really grab me by the shoulders and whisk me back to tumblr to do a deep-dive on every aspect of every episode. This fic was basically written because it has been bugging me since I watched the episode that Malcolm (even though he is a very dramatic boy) would have had the time or energy to grab the steamer trunk from the basement (as we now know that's where it's been since Eve decided to climb inside) and haul it upstairs and place it oh-so-dramatically in the middle of the room for John to find.
> 
> Also, should I add more? I'm debating if I should, so let me know if you would like more!


End file.
